


Open Your Eyes

by missbecky



Series: The Mission [3]
Category: Marvel Avengers Movies Universe, The Avengers (2012), The Avengers - All Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Christmas, Howard Stark - Freeform, Howard Stark Is a Dick, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, M/M, Maria Stark - Freeform, mistletoe kisses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-12
Updated: 2012-09-12
Packaged: 2017-11-14 03:04:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/510642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missbecky/pseuds/missbecky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve and Tony's friendship finally appears to be heading for more. Now if only Steve could find the right time to tell Tony the truth. In which many things are resolved, Steve is clueless, there are Christmas presents and mistletoe and kisses, and oh yeah, Tony makes it snow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Open Your Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> This is the final story in this series, following [A Minor Incident](http://archiveofourown.org/works/479510) and [Waiting for the End](http://archiveofourown.org/works/498569). Thank you to everyone who has patiently waited for this one. Your feedback has been appreciated more than you can know.
> 
> The working title for this story was "The 45 Days of Christmas."

  
_I want so much to open your eyes_  
 _Cause I need you to look_  
 _Into mine._  
"Open Your Eyes" – Snow Patrol

****

The party in Sydney lasted two whole days, and Steve hated every minute of it. More than once he thought about calling for someone to come get him, but that was as far as it went – thinking about it. He never even picked up a phone. Leaving Tony here alone was simply not an option. So Steve stayed. 

Much to his annoyance.

After the first hour, he was pretty sure Tony was never sober, which was irritating enough. Worse, most of the wealthy, pretty people who drifted in and out of the house were equally drunk and obnoxious. Over the course of those two days, it seemed like every single one of them, male and female alike, made an excuse to corner Steve and proposition him. They all wanted something different – sex, publicity, secrets, even just the chance to say they were friends with Captain America – but they all wanted something. Steve refused them all, sometimes with more grace than others. Strangely enough, Tony always seemed to have a sixth sense for when he was in over his head, and he would show up then, drink in hand, smiling widely. "Hey, Cap, got someone I need you to meet." And each and every time, Steve went with him, torn between supreme irritation and gratitude at being rescued.

Eventually – thankfully – even Tony grew tired of the endless stream of models and actresses and the spoiled rich, and he kicked them out. He didn't even have to get in the Iron Man armor to do it, which Steve considered to be a minor miracle, especially since he had no idea how long it would take for it to fly here from New York.

Around one o'clock on the afternoon of the eleventh, the day after the party finally wound down, Tony stumbled into the kitchen, making noises about coffee. For someone had spent the better part of two days drunker than sin, he was surprisingly clear-eyed, although he hadn't shaved yet. Instead of being reassured by this, Steve just interpreted it a depressing sign of how often Tony indulged in this kind of behavior. The revelation did nothing for his mood.

"Good morning," he said acidly. "Or good afternoon, I should say."

Tony gave him a dirty look. "Don't start." He poured himself a cup of coffee, sipped at it, and shuddered. "Ooh, that's good."

Steve just stared at him.

Tony rummaged through the enormous stainless steel refrigerator, but came up empty-handed. "Where are all the leftovers?" he complained. "You know, those little meatball things? There's got to be some left. There always are. Where'd they go?"

Steve folded his arms, and kept right on staring at him.

Tony shut the refrigerator door. He drank from his coffee cup, and sighed. "All right. Go ahead, tell me what a shitty host I am. But before you say anything, I should warn you that I already know about the broken windows, the pool is scheduled to be cleaned today, and I didn't really like that couch anyway. Also, you're welcome, for saving your ass from the scariest women in all of Australia."

Steve refused to take the bait. He had been sitting here for over two hours, waiting on Tony. "Do you know what day this is?"

Tony blinked at him, apparently surprised that he was not about to be yelled at. "Um. A weekday?" He winced. "Someone's birthday? Your birthday? No, of course not. An anniversary? Look, you better just tell me. I'm really terrible at this. Just ask Pepper. She always has to remind me five times, and I still forget. So go on, tell me. What have I forgotten?"

"It's November 11th," Steve said.

"Ohhh," Tony said with exaggerated comprehension. "I see. I, um. No. Wait. I don't get it. What's so special about the 11th?"

Steve's jaw tightened. Of course Tony didn't remember. Why should he? "It's Veteran's Day."

Tony got that blank look that Steve had learned meant he was about to panic and go into full-blown Tony-Stark-babbling mode. His eyes darted back and forth. Then he stiffened. "Shit. The parade."

"The parade," Steve confirmed.

Tony groaned. "Steve, I didn't… I forgot… Shit. _Shit!_ "

"Not helping," Steve said flatly.

"Shit," Tony said again, and off he went, having somehow managed to hold back the panicked babble for all of fifteen seconds – a new record for him, no doubt. "Why didn't you say anything?" Thus managing to make it entirely Steve's fault that he had missed this opportunity. "I know you were really looking forward to it. You should have said something! I mean, how many times did I have to rescue you from the clutches of that Nicole Kidman-lookalike and her evil twin sister? There were plenty of chances. Those two, they just never stopped. I mean, who can blame them, but still… You should have told me. I—"

"Would you have listened?" Steve asked quietly.

Tony reared back. "Low blow."

"I'm just asking," Steve said. "And you haven't even said you're sorry. Are you aware of that?"

Tony opened his mouth.

"Don't. I know you're not sorry," Steve said, and Tony shut his mouth with an audible snap of his jaw. "You know why I know that? Because you did this on purpose. You knew perfectly well what day it was. But you kept me here anyway. And all I want to know is why?"

To his amazement, Tony's chin came up. He looked almost defiant. "No," he said. "I'm not sorry. And no matter what you think, I didn't do it on purpose. But I'm glad it happened."

" _Why_?" Steve demanded. He supposed he still loved Tony, but right now he found himself sorely tempted to deck him. 

Tony's mouth twisted bitterly. "You're so smart. Figure it out." He set his coffee cup down so hard Steve was surprised it didn't break, and started to walk away. "Get your stuff together. I'll make a call. We'll be in the air within an hour."

"Good," Steve said.

"Yeah, good," Tony said, then rounded on him. "I'm glad we had this conversation. But before you go off all on your high horse, did you ever stop to wonder how hard it was for me to get on that plane and come out here? But I did it anyway, because it was you."

That stopped Steve dead. He had never thought about that. When he had made his impulsive suggestion to come to Sydney, he had only wanted to get Tony out of his head and away from the terrible guilt that was tormenting him. He had thought a physical change of venue would help accomplish that. He had never considered how awful it would be for Tony to get on a plane again so soon after the incident in Canada.

"I'm sorry," he said. Only moments before he had been consumed by anger; now he just felt ashamed of himself. "I didn't—"

"No, it's cool," Tony said. "Back in the saddle again and all that. I get it. But I'm just saying. I did that. For you." The slightest tremor in his voice betrayed his emotions – although what exactly he was feeling right then, Steve couldn't say. "So, you know, don't get all pissy with me. Especially since it was your idea and all."

"All right," Steve said wearily. "You made your point. Can we just go?"

For half a second he thought Tony would continue to argue with him. Then Tony just sighed. "Whatever you say, Cap."

****

They did not speak on the return flight. Tony busied himself with his ever-present tablet, and Steve tried and failed to read a book.

He wasn't really angry anymore, but he didn't know how to say that. He didn't know how to say that although he had been _talking_ about the parade for some time, he had _not_ been looking forward to it. In fact, he had been dreading it.

Back in his time, November 11th had been called Armistice Day. When he had first heard that it was now a day to honor all veterans, he had been pleased. But that was before Director Fury signed him up to be the Grand Marshal at a parade in New York City. Before he realized that the symbol of Captain America was too valuable to allow the man Steve Rogers any privacy to remember, and to honor and mourn his lost soldiers and friends.

He had tried to talk to Director Fury, but without any luck. The other man had heard him out, even listening sympathetically, but then told him that he would be sticking to the original plan. "Right now it's more important that the people of this world – both the civilians and the criminals – see you this way. It'll give half of them hope, and piss off the other half. Which is pretty much how we want it."

And that was that.

He wanted to tell Tony all this, but it was too late for explanations. And anyway he was pretty sure Tony wouldn't listen.

What a difference two days made, he thought with weary anger. The confidences they had shared in New York and on the flight to Sydney might as well have never happened. Tony had closed himself off again, retreating behind his computers and his endless work and that façade of careless arrogance that was far more impenetrable than any of Iron Man's armors. 

Yet he kept coming back to what Tony had said. _Did you ever stop to wonder how hard it was for me to get on that plane and come out here? But I did it anyway, because it was you._

_Because it was you._ Was it possible, no matter how remote the chance, that Tony might somehow be feeling the same things he was?

Or was he merely indulging in some wishful thinking, reaching for something that wasn't there? 

Either way, he wasn't going to find out now. He sighed. They had a long flight. He might as well try to sleep.

****

A limousine was waiting for them when they landed at LAX. Tony smiled broadly. "Happy!"

"Sir." The chauffeur did not smile exactly, but he was obviously pleased to see his employer. His eyes met Steve's. "Captain Rogers."

Steve nodded. "Mr. Hogan." They shook hands. He had never met the man before – Pepper used a different chauffeur when she was in New York – but he recognized the name.

"Everything all set?" Tony asked.

"Yes, boss," Happy said. He opened the back door of the car.

Steve took a seat opposite Tony. The interior of the limo was all plush red and shiny silver. There was a large bar, a sophisticated entertainment system, and two laptop computers. The windows were tinted so no one could see in, and that suited Steve just fine.

For some time they rode in silence. Steve stared morosely out the window. He had no idea why they had flown to Los Angeles instead of New York, but he was not about to ask.

"If you'd stop sulking for five seconds—"

"I'm not sulking!"

"—and look out this window, you'd see why we came here."

He glared at Tony, then turned and looked out the other window. Just as the limo pulled into Los Angeles National Cemetery.

The bottom dropped out of Steve's stomach. "Oh," he said softly.

The car moved slowly down a shaded avenue. There were many people out, standing in somber groups at gravestones. The American flag was in evidence everywhere, along with men and women in uniform. Off in the distance he could see what appeared to be a more formal ceremony, but in this area of the cemetery, there were only ordinary people paying their respects.

"Oh," Steve said again. It seemed to be all he was capable of saying.

The limo glided to a stop. Happy Hogan got out and opened the door. "This way, Captain."

Bewildered, Steve looked at Tony. "What is this?"

"I could only find one of them," Tony said. He looked deeply uncomfortable. "Well, I found the others, of course, but none were close enough to actually make it there on the 11th. Which is what you wanted. Dates and all. And I know I screwed up, big time. So here we are. I hope you don't mind. And you should, you should go. Really."

Moving slowly, half in a daze, Steve got out of the car. Tony followed him, sunglasses on. He pointed to a monument halfway down the lawn. "Should be right around there."

"What's down there?" Steve asked. "Tony, what is this?"

"Just go," Tony said. He made a flicking gesture with his fingers. "You'll see. Go."

Uncertain what awaited him, Steve walked toward the monument. Far away, he heard the sound of trumpets, and his throat tightened.

There were several gravesites located around the monument. Steve circled it slowly, and as he was nearing the end of his arc, he saw the one he wanted.

_James Morita, U.S. Army. Born Mar. 2, 1920, Died July 18, 1945. "Howling Commando"_

Steve's breath caught. Sudden wetness stung his eyes. Jim. Jim was here. Jim, who had died so near the war's conclusion, come so close to surviving.

He raised one shaking hand and saluted his friend. Then he bowed his head and cried.

****

He stayed by Jim's grave for a long time. He didn't say much. He didn't tell Jim how sometimes he hated this century and the way the world had moved on, rendering his values almost invalid. He didn't tell Jim how lost and confused he felt, and how exhausting it was having to pretend like he knew what he was doing all the time. He knew if he started, he would not stop for hours, and there were simply too many people here. So far they had all passed him by with nothing more than solemn nods of acknowledgement, but sooner or later someone was going to recognize Captain America, and things would go downhill in a hurry then.

So he did not speak. Instead he just sat there and he let himself remember. Dances and pubs and stinking dirty trenches and blood and explosions and agonized screams and mud and ribald jokes and laughter, so much laughter. His men. Bucky and Dum Dum and Gabe and Jim. Peggy. Beautiful Peggy. _I had a date._

He cried a little more, and then he finally accepted that it was time to go. He scrubbed at his face, saluted Jim one last time, and began walking back up the lawn toward the limousine.

Happy Hogan saw him coming, and opened the door for him. "Thank you," Steve murmured.

The interior of the limo was alive with sound and images. After the quiet peace of the graveside, the assault on Steve's senses was almost more than he could bear. He took an involuntary step backward, unable to deal with it all just yet.

Loud rock music was playing over the stereo. The TV was tuned to CNN. A Bluetooth in his ear, Tony was holding two conversations at once, manipulating something in the air above his tablet that looked vaguely cylindrical. One of the laptops was open on the seat beside him. "No," he said. "Tell them they can't have it. JARVIS, raise that density to .3%. Now sim it. Pepper, Pepper, I mean it this time. Seriously. Make that .35%. Give me the sim, there, that's good. No, it is not an act of war, it's just the stockholders— You know what, I take it back. It is war. It's—" He looked up at Steve and stumbled to a halt. "Um, hold that thought. I'm gonna have to call you back." He reached up and tapped the Bluetooth. "You're back."

Tony was a genius; his brain literally needed more stimulation, he could not focus on merely one thing at a time. For Steve, though, the barrage of sight and sound was too much. But Captain America was no coward, and neither was Steve Rogers. "Can we…please?" He waved his hand in the general direction of the TV as he took a deep breath and climbed in.

Tony shut off first the TV, then the stereo. He closed the laptop and pushed it further down the seat. "Save this," he commanded as he moved his hand over the tablet in a dismissive gesture. "Private server only." He set the tablet down on the laptop. Then, all the toys put away, there was nothing to distract him and nothing to do except sit there and fidget and try not to look at Steve.

"Thank you," Steve said, right as Tony blurted, "You're not talking. God, did I do the right thing here or just screw this up further? 'Cause you're—" He stopped. "Oh. Um. You're welcome."

"Thank you," Steve said again. "That's probably the nicest thing anyone's done for me since I woke up in this century."

"Oh. Well. Let's not go that far," Tony said, and still he couldn't look Steve in the eye.

"I mean it," he said. "It was very thoughtful of you."

Tony looked positively alarmed now. "Oh shit. Are you going to cry?"

"No," Steve said, blinking back the tears.

"Uh, where to, boss?" Happy Hogan's voice came over the intercom.

Tony glanced at Steve, then his gaze skittered away again. "Home," he said.

The limo pulled away from the curb. Feeling more himself now, Steve ventured, "Home?"

"Yeah," Tony said. "When I took over the company I relocated out here, and hey, are you cool with this? 'Cause I'll understand if you're not, but there's something I really think you should see, so you know, you should reconsider if you're not cool with this. Is all I'm saying."

Steve just stared at him. "Wow."

Tony's eyes narrowed a little. "What?"

"That's twice in one day you've actually paid any attention to what I'm feeling. I'm almost starting to wonder who you are and what you've done with the real Tony Stark."

"Very funny," Tony huffed. "I'll have you know, I'm perfectly capable of random moments of thoughtfulness."

"Oh, really?" Steve teased, thankful that he could see the humor in Tony's eyes, even more thankful that he was able to find his own sense of humor again and respond in kind. It made him feel like he was truly leaving the gravesite behind. "What's that, like a once-a-year special event?"

Tony smirked. "Pretty much."

And naturally, because it seemed like they were putting the unpleasantness in Sydney behind them and behaving like friends again, he had to go and ruin it all. "I don't think you give yourself enough credit."

The light of amusement died in Tony's eyes. "I know exactly how much credit to give myself," he said flatly. "I think I liked it better when you were pissed off at me."

"Why would you—" Steve began, when it hit him. Hard. "Oh."

He had no idea what to say to that. He could not fathom thinking that way, being so unfamiliar with simple, honest friendship that wariness and hostility were your default way of dealing with people. It struck him as being unbearably lonely, and he suddenly remembered something Natasha had said once, how the only people who could stand to be around Tony Stark were the ones he paid to do so, and the robots in his workshop.

Come to think of it, that explained what had happened in Sydney. Tony had deliberately made sure he could not attend the parade, just to piss him off, because dealing with a pissed-off Steve Rogers was easier than dealing with the one who had been there when he cried and confessed to all the guilt he was carrying around.

Except it _didn't_ explain Sydney. It didn't explain anything. He couldn't lie to himself anymore. Tony had not kept him in Sydney. He could have returned to New York at any time. He could have used any number of cell phones at the house, or even borrowed one from one of the beautiful models who kept backing him into a corner. He had not done those things because he had chosen not to. He had chosen to stay.

For better or for worse, he was in this for the long haul.

****

Tony's house in Malibu was perched precariously on a clifftop overlooking the ocean. It was enormous, had endless expanses of glass, and was very empty. Only Happy Hogan lived here full-time now, along with a few other staff who kept the place clean and ready for the rare occasions when Tony returned to California.

"This is. Wow." Steve admired the waterfall in the living room for a while. 

Tony allowed him some time to gawk, while giving the impression of being utterly bored. "You ready?"

He could have happily wandered around for awhile, exploring this house where Tony had lived for twenty years. But Tony was obviously impatient with him, and their friendship was still too new and uncertain, and he didn't want to push things too far. So he said, "Sure."

He followed Tony down the steps to the basement level. Beneath the house there was another workshop, identical to the one in New York. Several cars were parked here as well, some ludicrously expensive and fast, others classic models straight out of Steve's time. "Whoa," he said. "You collect cars."

"All the good billionaires do," Tony said. When Steve gave him a look, he said, "What? I gotta collect something, right? Spend my ill-gotten gains somehow." He ducked under a long metal tube that stretched the length of the workshop. "Speaking of ill-gotten gains…"

"What is all this?" Steve marveled. The majority of the workshop was filled with an endless stretch of weird metal tubing, punctuated at intervals by gear wheels, see-through work areas, and other assorted bits of machinery that he could not even identify. In a few places the tubing had been dismantled, but it was still largely intact. The far wall was almost demolished, and a deep groove had been cut into the concrete, providing evidence that the whatever-it-was had been used at least once. Overall, the effect was rather disturbing.

"Particle collider," Tony said over his shoulder, reminding Steve of that day they had gone out to a factory that made parts for things like this, so Tony could buy it. The day they had found the Hydra symbol and gone underground to investigate. The day he had first realized how important Tony was to him.

"Give me a hand with this," Tony said. He was digging at something under a section of tubing. 

Steve ducked under the metal tunnel and made his way over to where Tony stood. "You built this."

"Yep. Here. Lift it. Right here."

"You discovered a new element with this."

"Rediscovered. Lift it…almost got it…there!"

"Tony, my God, that's—"

"Go ahead, set it down. Jeez! Gently!"

"Sorry." He was still stuck on the fact that Tony had done the impossible in his basement, yet seemed to think nothing of it. Then again, he supposed it _was_ nothing to someone like Tony, who had done something even more impossible while imprisoned in a cave.

"Okay," Tony said. "You ready for this?" 

When he had been holding up the tubing, the angle had been all wrong for him to see what Tony pulled out from underneath it. Now though, Tony stepped back a little, and the object in his hands was revealed.

Steve stared in shock at his shield. Well, no, not his shield. Not really. More like a prototype. The thing Tony held wasn't even finished, and the colors were not quite right. But there was no doubt what it was meant to be, what it would one day become.

"Where did you get this?" he breathed. He held out both hands.

Tony gave him the shield. "In a box."

Steve looked at him incredulously. "This? Was in a box?"

"Er, more like a trunk, really," Tony said. He was doing that thing again where he could not seem to look Steve in the eye. "It was with some of my father's things. Fury gave it to me. I knew what it was, but I didn't really think anything of it, I kind of had other things on my mind then, like the fact that I was dying. Actually I did think about it, but I didn't at the same time. It didn't, it was just a thing. Nothing special. I mean, I didn't know _you_ then, just the you I had read about in the comic books and the you my father abandoned me for every summer, and oh _shit_."

In the ensuing silence, Steve could practically hear the thunderous beat of his heart. He held the shield in both hands, terribly aware of the way he must look right now, as though he were hiding behind it.

"Shit," Tony said, his eyes bright with panic. " _Shit!_ Okay, I did not say that, you did not hear it, and I sure as hell did not mean it. Okay? That's not… Okay, maybe I thought that once, when I was just a stupid kid, but that's not, I mean, I don't." He cleared his throat forcefully. "I don't think that way anymore. You know that, right?"

Watching Tony Stark try to be sincere was painful. Steve nodded, hardly able to do anything else. "Yeah," he whispered.

"Oh God, listen. Steve. This…" Tony pointed to the unfinished shield, then abruptly snapped his hand closed into a fist and shook it a little. "I _knew_ this was a bad idea. I knew it! Normally Pepper is here to talk me out of these kinds of things, and see, I _need_ that, 'cause unless it involves circuits and wires my ideas tend to be _really bad_ ones, and shit. _Shit._ "

"It's okay," Steve said quietly. And again it went back to that day in the tunnel, the day Tony had fallen in the water and Steve had first learned the ugly truth about what had happened to him in Afghanistan. The day Tony had gotten so terribly drunk and told him that he had built his circuit boards just to make Howard proud, then in the next breath dismissed those childhood hopes and dreams as stupid. Tony still did not remember that conversation – but Steve had never forgotten it. 

"Well, clearly it's not," Tony said.

"Do you still hate me?" Steve asked, and God, why had he asked that, _why_?

"Absolutely not," Tony replied immediately. "And I – Why would you think that?"

"You told me once," Steve said.

"I never said that."

"Yes, you did."

"I would never say that. When did I say that?"

"When you were drunk," Steve confessed miserably. "The night we found that Hydra facility in the sewers."

Tony went very still.

"I'm sorry," Steve said. "I didn't see any reason to say anything. I never really thought you meant it, anyway. I mean, it was clear that you didn't really know what you were saying. I just figured—"

"Usually people tend to tell the truth when they're drunk," Tony said. "Or haven't you noticed that?"

Steve just gave a small little _I don't know_ shrug, and turned the shield over in his hands.

"Well, since we're playing the little confessional game, yes, I did mean it. I meant it as a kid, and I probably meant it that night, too. But like I said, I didn't know you then. And I was drunk, okay? I don't even remember talking to you then. You can't hold that against me."

There was something in his voice that made Steve want to throw the shield against the wall, just to watch it break. "I don't," he said. And it was true. It would have been true even if he hadn't heard that almost desperate plea in Tony's voice. He held Tony's gaze and did not blink. "I know you had your reasons, but we've come a long way since then. A lot of water under the bridge." He dropped the shield to his side and took a step forward so the collider tubing was just an inch away from his stomach. He held out his right hand. "We're still friends."

Because what else could he say? They had to be friends – and just friends. If he tried to tell Tony the truth about how he felt, Tony would think he was overcompensating and throw it back in his face. He could not say something like that now. Not when Tony clearly harbored such doubts about their friendship.

Tony stared at his outstretched hand like it might turn into a snake, then back up at his face. Then he squared his shoulders, stepped forward, and shook Steve's hand. "In case Pepper hasn't told you," he said, "you do know you should only listen to about half of what I say, right?"

As far as attempts at humor went, it was pretty lame, but Steve was willing to forgive anything just then. "Actually I only listen to about a tenth of it," he said, and tried on a smile. "You do talk an awful lot."

"Agreed," Tony said, and now his smile looked more natural.

Steve's breath caught. He wanted to grab Tony's hand again and pull him into a hug. Even with the collider tubing between them, it would have been enough. Just to hold him again. He might even reach up and touch the thin scar on Tony's throat, legacy of his kidnapping, and tell him that it would never happen again, Steve would not let it. And if he was really daring, he might kiss that mark, press his lips to Tony's warm skin and taste him, breathe him in…

If he did that, would Tony kiss him back? He would taste like Scotch, of course, and his mouth would be hot. The brush of his goatee would tickle at first, then suddenly blossom into heat on Steve's skin. _What took you so long?_ he would say with a wicked grin, his eyes alight with love and lust.

Or maybe he would reel back in astonishment. He would wipe at his mouth, shocked and disgusted. _What the hell was that, Rogers?_ The contempt in his eyes would cut Steve to the quick, and that would be it, their friendship over almost before it even began.

Steve raised the shield a little and cleared his throat. "Um. Thank you for showing me this. It means a lot."

"Oh, not showing," Tony said. "Keeping. Gifting. Whatever. It's yours."

"Are you sure?" he asked, even though he already knew the answer. Obviously Tony felt no sentimentality toward Howard Stark's possessions, or the shield would not have been hidden away in a trunk all these years.

"Very sure. Besides, what am I going to do with it? Although I will need something else to level out that section if I ever decide to use this again."

"I'm sure you'll find something," Steve said.

"Maybe something a little less precious," Tony said. "Like a Ming vase."

Steve chuckled. "That would work." 

They just stood there for a while, the silence between them growing more awkward as it lengthened. "I guess we should probably go," he finally said. "Didn't you want to work on my shield?"

"Why do you think I gave that to you?" Tony asked. He gestured to the shield. "Be sure to bring it with you. And whatever you do, don't let Bruce get his hands on it."

"Oh, I get it," Steve said. "This wasn't about giving me a gift. It was all about you and your work."

"Well, yeah. Isn't it always?" Tony asked with an expression of such perfect innocence that Steve burst out laughing. He couldn't help it.

He and Tony regarded each other over the particle accelerator. The silence didn't seem so awkward this time. It was maybe too soon to know for sure, but he thought things were going to be all right between them. Someday, and maybe sooner than he had thought, they would have to talk about Howard and the past, but for now they could continue to safely delay that inevitable confrontation. 

There was no more denying, though, that they were friends. Tony's confession in the penthouse and the trip to Sydney had forever changed their relationship. Today's events had just sealed the deal. And for all Tony's claims of being a futurist, Steve was certain that this was one time he knew something Tony did not – their futures were inextricably linked.

He had a lot to look forward to.

****

Director Fury had some very choice words regarding Steve's non-appearance at the parade – "irresponsible idiots" were perhaps the kindest – when they returned to New York. Steve didn't really mind. In a weird way it reminded him of being just a regular grunt again, standing there on the receiving end of a tongue-lashing from Colonel Phillips.

Tony, as usual, shrugged it all off and forgot about it the moment the conference call ended. "Bring both your shields and meet me downstairs."

"Wait," Steve said. "We just got back."

"Yeah?" Tony gave him a _so what's your point?_ look.

"Can't it wait until tomorrow?"

"What have you got planned for the rest of the day? Which, I might remind you, actually ends in about an hour, so we don't exactly have a whole lot of time."

Steve shook his head. "Here's a novel idea. Go to bed."

Tony made a face, scrunching up his nose. "Party pooper."

"That's me," Steve said. He headed for the stairs. "Good night."

Tony heaved a sigh. "Fine. Good night. And all that. Whatever."

Steve waggled his fingers over his shoulder in an approximation of a wave. Then, taking a wild guess, he added, "I saw that."

"You saw nothing," Tony shot back.

Steve just laughed.

****

On November thirteenth, he and Tony drove out to Long Island to keep a promise Tony had made to a little boy.

Halfway there, Tony reached over and turned off the radio, plunging them into silence. Steve's ears were still ringing from the loud rock music that had just been playing, and he almost missed it when Tony said, "You should know that there's going to be a round of layoffs at Stark Industries next week."

Steve frowned. He felt bad for those people who were about to lose their jobs, but he wasn't sure why Tony had told him. "Okay," he said, not getting it. "Why do I need to know this?"

"Because," Tony said. He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel in an arrhythmic pattern, then said, "Last week I circulated a memo to every single employee in every company I own. Anyone who didn't feel safe working for me was welcome to give their notice with no recriminations."

Steve stared at him in shock. "Being laid off isn't a recrimination?"

"No, it's not," Tony said, his eyes fixed on the road. "Because they aren't being laid off. They're leaving voluntarily. And they're getting pretty damn generous severance packages, too. But by saying they've been laid off, they can claim unemployment, and best of all, they get to claim they were laid off by that ungrateful asshole Tony Stark. They'll have no problem finding new jobs."

Still stunned, Steve asked, "How many people took you up on that offer?"

"Worldwide, about three hundred," Tony said. "I'm just telling you because I don't want you to think I'm that asshole. Because you would. And normally I wouldn't care because you would be right. But not in this instance."

Uncertain what to say, Steve settled for just looking back at the road. He hadn't realized deeply Tony had taken to heart that guilt and worry for the people who worked for him; suddenly he could not stop thinking about their conversation in the penthouse, and the way Tony had agonized over having a public identity as Iron Man.

"If you ever wanted to talk about it," he offered. "I'd—"

"No," Tony said shortly. "I already 'talked about it' with the SHIELD therapist. The one who said I was certifiable, remember her? There is no more 'talking about it.'"

"Okay," Steve said, holding up his hands. "I was just offering."

"Well, don't," Tony snapped.

Steve said nothing to this. He would have bet every penny he owned that Tony would have said there was no reason to talk about Afghanistan either – and yet just five days ago that was exactly what he had done.

In due time, he thought, Tony would want to talk about what had happened in Canada. And for whatever reason, he seemed to feel comfortable sharing those things with Steve. That was good. Because Steve wanted to be there when Tony was ready.

He wanted to always be there.

****

Tony's private pilot had lived in a neat little house painted pastel yellow. The curtain in the window twitched as the car pulled into the driveway, and a little face disappeared from sight.

"We've been spotted," Steve said. It was the first thing he had said since Tony had shut down his offer of talk.

"They know we're coming," Tony said. He had not turned the radio back on after their conversation; they had made the rest of the drive in somber silence.

Steve got out of the car and tried not to make it obvious as he looked around. Here in this suburban setting, he felt very conspicuous in his Captain America costume. He wondered how many people knew they were coming out here today, and how many videos of this visit would end up on You Tube.

The blond little boy who opened the door wore a Captain America T-shirt and an expression of awe. He stared up at Steve and said, "Whoa."

Steve smiled. "Hi, Danny."

For two hours he played with Danny in the backyard, shooting at imaginary Hydra agents and stalking the Red Skull, while pretending not to glance in the kitchen window and watch as Tony gave the boy's mother the deed to their house. They came in long enough to have a snack of cookies and juice, then they went back outside again, running races against each other. As Captain America, Steve had a duty to win them all, of course, but he let Danny come close enough to winning to motivate the boy to practice and keep at it.

They were invited to dinner, but Tony declined politely on his behalf, and the afternoon was suddenly over.

Danny gave Steve a hug, clinging to him tightly. Steve went down on one knee and held out his shield. "Here," he said. "I want you to have this."

The little boy's eyes went very wide. "Me?"

It wasn't his real shield, just one he used in practice sparring sessions with Thor and Natasha. The boy didn't need to know that, though. "I know you'll take good care of it," he said.

Danny gulped and nodded. "I will," he promised.

On the way back to the city, Tony said, "Thank you," then did not say another word.

****

The very next day he was in the gym, slowly punching one of the bags there into a pile of leather and sawdust, when he felt the unmistakable sensation of being watched. He looked up and saw Tony leaning in the doorway, staring at him with a decidedly odd expression.

Suddenly self-conscious, he stood up straight. "Hey."

"Hey." Tony pushed himself off the door and walked in. He was dressed in an old wifebeater and workout pants, and his hands were taped. "A while ago you offered to teach me how to fight like you. That offer still stand?"

"Of course," Steve said.

"Good. 'Cause, I'm ready to learn."

He just nodded. He had been expecting this. In some ways, Tony Stark was very predictable. He was actually a little surprised it hadn't happened before now, but he was also glad of it. He would have had to say no before this, while waiting for Tony's injuries to finish healing. But enough time had passed now that he could safely begin instruction.

"Okay," he said. "But you're going to have to do exactly as I tell you. And I know how difficult following orders is for you. Can you handle that?"

Tony did not smirk, or make fun. He just lowered his head a little, stubborn as ever. "Try me."

The lessons went surprisingly well. Tony listened intently to his instructions, and he was a fast learner. He admitted to a certain skill at boxing, and it definitely helped that he had seen Steve and the others fighting. Before long Steve had to revise his mental assessment of what Tony would be capable of, and admit that he had underestimated him.

"You're doing well," he said, just before he flipped Tony over his shoulder and slammed him onto the mat.

Tony landed flat on his back with a pained grunt. "Thanks," he coughed.

Steve planted his hands on his hips and grinned. "I'm still kicking your ass, though."

"Yeah, well." Tony rolled onto his hands and knees. "You've had more practice." He climbed to his feet. "And you cheat."

"I do not!" Steve exclaimed.

"Oh, my bad," Tony said as he rushed in, fists swinging. "That's me who cheats."

Steve just laughed and sidestepped him.

They continued on for about an hour more. He called it quits then, not wanting to push things too hard on their first day. Although Steve wasn't even winded, Tony was soaked in sweat and breathing hard. It was definitely time to stop.

"You did great," he said as he started to unroll the wrapping from his hand. "Real well."

"Not bad for an old guy, huh?" Tony teased.

Steve chuckled. "Technically I'm older than you." He looked up, and his smile froze in place. His breath caught. _Oh my God…_

Tony was oblivious to his stare, thankfully. He stood not two feet away, drinking from a water bottle, his head tipped back, throat working as he swallowed. Sweat glistened on his bare arms and dripped from the wet ends of his hair. Steve had never seen anything so beautiful in all his life. Sudden heat stabbed through him, and he gasped and had to turn around before Tony could see the embarrassing evidence of his arousal.

"Um," he said. "Same time tomorrow?"

He heard water settle as Tony lowered the bottle. "Nah, come on, I got this."

"No," Steve said. "I don't want to overdo it." He really needed to get out of here, and quick. He just prayed the urgency he felt did not come through in his tone. "We'll start again tomorrow."

"Okay." A lot of the enthusiasm had left Tony's voice. "Sure thing."

"Okay." He gathered up his stuff, still keeping his back to Tony. "I'll see you then."

"Yeah, okay." He told himself that he was just imagining that dubious note in Tony's voice. Even if it were real, he couldn't risk hanging around to find out.

He fled the gym.

****

He told himself not to be stupid. What was that phrase they used nowadays? He needed to get over himself and just tell Tony what he was feeling. Just two weeks ago he had thought Tony was dead – he knew better than most how precious life was and how important it was to seize the chances he had been given.

Yet he couldn't bring himself to do it. Although he was still puzzling out the mystery that was Tony Stark, more and more he felt like he understood the other man. The time for his revelation had to be just right. Tony's opinion of himself was so low that if Steve were to reveal his heart at the wrong time, Tony would either laugh at him, or get angry and accuse him of being patronizing. He felt strongly that this was not the time. Not when the specter of Canada still loomed over them, driving Tony to seek him out in the gym so he could learn how to fight with his bare hands.

And that was where even Steve's legendary patience failed him. He could not do this to himself. He lay awake all night, remembering the way Tony had moved on the mat, hands up, head lowered, eyes fixed on Steve's. There had been nothing overtly sexual in their dance, but that did not mean he didn't remember it that way – certainly that was how his body remembered it.

He knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he could not maintain any professionalism where Tony was concerned. He had been able to hide it today, and he might get lucky tomorrow, but sooner or later Tony would find out and then the questions would begin. And Steve knew he wasn't ready for the answers. Neither of them were.

So when Tony came down to the gym the next day, he was already standing there with his bag half-packed. "Oh," he said. "I can't. I've got an appointment at the youth center. But hey, you can come if you want."

Tony looked kind of pissed off. "Um, no."

"Sorry," Steve said, and he meant it. More than Tony would ever know.

The next day Tony sent him a text. _Free today?_

_SHIELD meeting_ , he wrote back. It was true, too. He wanted to get an update on their latest efforts at finding the Mandarin; he was not going to rest until that villain was behind bars and unable to hurt Tony again. The fact that his presence was not required at the meeting…well, Tony didn't need to know that.

He got no reply to that message, but then, he hadn't expected one.

Tony did not ask him again for a sparring lesson.

****

Steve didn't know how the others had intended to spend Thanksgiving, but he was pretty sure none of them had guessed they would be spending it fighting for their lives in Switzerland against the Red Skull. It was a terrible fight, and in the end half the Skull's army sacrificed themselves so their leader could make his escape. Only Bruce emerged unscathed from that battle, and by the time they made it back to New York, no one was in the mood for turkey and cranberries.

Up until they got the call about the Red Skull, Steve had harbored thoughts of finally telling Tony his secret on Thanksgiving Day, complete with commentary about how thankful he was that Tony was a part of his life. But after the battle, he withdrew into himself for a few days. He had lost so much to the Red Skull: Bucky, Peggy, seventy years of his life. It was difficult to face him, and even harder to accept that the villain had slipped away from his grasp yet again.

It took him about a week to recover his equilibrium, and without any fanfare, November slipped into December. It was truly winter now, much to Steve's chagrin.

He hated the cold. He had grown up in New York and he knew it shouldn't bother him, but it did. It reminded him too much of things he didn't want to remember. The endless fall into the Arctic. Thawing out. Trapped in frozen sleep while everyone he had ever known grew old and died, and sometimes not in that order.

He didn't really say much about it, though. There nothing anybody could do about it. (Well, Thor could, but even the thought of him "assisting" the weather filled Steve with horror.) So he just grit his teeth and wore an extra layer of clothing, and one day as they sat around the conference table on board the helicarrier waiting for Director Fury, he grumbled about how cold it was.

Only once. That was the only time he ever said anything. But after that, he noticed a subtle change. The Avengers Tower was well-heated all the time – it wasn't like Tony Stark had to worry about paying a high electric bill or anything. After Steve uttered his one complaint, though, he began to notice that the heat always kicked on when he entered a room. And it stayed on, until the air was wonderfully warm and even standing by the windows did not make him feel cold.

Once he realized what was going on, he was struck with amazement. JARVIS ran the building, so the extra heat was JARVIS's doing. But JARVIS only obeyed commands from Tony Stark. Which meant that ultimately Tony was responsible.

Steve was deeply touched by the gesture, although he knew better than to say anything and call attention to it. The very fact that Tony had not proudly announced what he had done – like he usually did after something like this – was enough to keep Steve silent.

Nor did he say anything to the others. He wasn't even sure if they knew what was going on, although he was pretty certain Natasha did. She pointedly glared at him one afternoon as she removed her sweater and stood there in just a tank top – while a snowstorm raged outside. That made him feel guilty, because while Tony did occasionally surprise them all with random acts of thoughtfulness, as he called them, quite often they seemed to be directed at Steve, and Steve only. 

And he had yet to figure out why.

****

As Captain America, he was always aware of his team's whereabouts and how they were doing, both individually and as a group. Since the incident in the Hydra tunnels, though, he had found himself covertly watching Tony almost all the time. But that month his self-assigned task was not made easy. Tony was in one of his workshops more often than not, where no one was allowed inside. Even more maddening, he tinted the windows so no one could see in – a shock Steve got one evening when he wandered down there to see if he could interest Tony in dinner. He got the message though, loud and clear, and he just turned around and went back upstairs.

The rejection inherent in that tinted glass stung for about a day. Until Bruce came across him while he was drawing something, and inquired what he was doing.

Bruce had asked with innocent curiosity, but Steve reacted badly. "Nothing!" Hastily he flipped the drawing over so the other man couldn't see it.

Bruce's eyebrows shot up. "Okay. Just asking."

"I know," Steve said, and tried to stop glaring. "I mean, it's okay. I know you were. I just...don't want anybody to see it yet."

"It's cool," Bruce said, calm as ever.

After that Steve understood the tinted windows just fine. Because if Bruce Banner could almost stumble upon the Christmas gift Steve was planning for him, what goodies might Tony be working on down there?

Every free moment Steve had that month he devoted to his drawings. As far as he knew, no one was even aware of his hobby, and that was fine by him. It was difficult some days to find the time for it, but he managed to get some work done every day.

Some of the drawings were easier than others, able to be drawn from memory. Others required him to study his subject. He had agonized for ages over whether to draw Bruce with a shadowy aura surrounding him, before deciding not to. There were enough everyday things in Bruce's life that reminded him of his terrible alter ego. Why give him one more?

The drawing of Natasha captured her in mid-action, poised to bring down an unseen opponent. Clint was on one knee, bow drawn, an arrow aimed at an assailant just visible in the upper corner of the picture. Thor was standing tall, Mjolnir raised over his head, lightning sparking everywhere.

He drew Tony in the workshop, seated on a chair, the torso of the Iron Man armor suspended from a pulley in front of him. Loose wires and cables dangled everywhere; one arm was half taken apart. Tony was engrossed in his work, a screwdriver between his teeth, reaching up with both hands for the exposed armor in a way that showcased his arms.

He was pleased with all the drawings, but it was the one of Tony he lingered over the longest.

****

On December 7th the Avengers joined forces with the kid calling himself Spider-Man to do battle with Doc Ock. Bruce and Thor were away then, and time was an issue, so no one bothered to call them back first. They just suited up and went into action. 

Fighting with Spider-Man really wasn't all that different from their usual method of operating, although Steve had to admit the kid's webs were very useful. Only toward the end did something happen that made him lose his cool. As one of Doc Ock's arms fired some kind of laser pulse at Steve, a streak of red-gold flew between him and the blast. The pulse scattered harmlessly over Iron Man's armor, but Steve's heart nearly stopped, anyway.

Afterward, as the police were literally hauling Doc Ock away and Spider-Man was nothing but a receding red and blue blur among the cityscape, Steve raked his cowl back and glared at Tony. "What the _hell_ were you thinking back there?" he yelled.

Everyone stopped what they were doing and stared. This was a first. Captain America rarely got angry, and he never swore.

Tony had raised his mask; at first he too looked taken aback by Steve's outburst. Then his eyes narrowed in self-defensive anger. "Well, I was thinking 'armor', 'no armor'" – he pointed first to himself, then to Steve –" but hey, if you want to get your head blown off next time, don't let _me_ stop you."

"Don't be stupid," Steve snapped. "You know that's not what I meant." He couldn't explain why he felt so angry all of a sudden, why his relief at knowing Tony was unhurt should have changed so swiftly to such fury. All he knew right then was that he was torn between wrapping Tony in his arms and never letting go again, and laying him out cold with a single punch. At that moment, both were perfectly viable options.

"Then maybe you better enlighten me," Tony said.

Abruptly he became aware of the way Clint and Natasha were staring at them. Even the police and firemen kept stealing glances their way as they tried to drag Doc Ock's body away. He cleared his throat and took a deep breath, hoping it wasn't too late to salvage the situation.

"You're the only one who can fly," he said. "I need you up there. If you had taken any damage from that blast—"

"But I didn't," Tony said.

"But you might have," Steve said, doing his best to sound calm and logical.

"No, I wouldn't," Tony said. He seemed to be making an effort at speaking reasonably as well. "I knew I wouldn't. The moment those weapons came out, I had JARVIS run a diagnostic on them. I knew they couldn't harm me."

Steve could think of nothing to say to this.

"Believe it or not, I know what I'm doing," Tony said. The faceplate snapped closed. "I was doing this long before I teamed up with any of you." The scowling mask glared at each of them in turn.

"Hey," Clint said, sounding wounded. "I didn't say anything."

Tony didn't bother replying. He just took to the skies.

****

On December 9th he had a luncheon with Directory Fury and Maria Hill and some U.S. Congressmen. He had said he would attend weeks ago, but without any real enthusiasm. It was the one thing he disliked most about being Captain America – having to be the public face of the Avengers, and smile and play nice with annoying government officials. On top of that, he was irritated because Tony was supposed to have gone with him, but had blown him off in favor of visiting his New York factory. All in all, Steve was not in a good mood when he returned to the Avengers Tower.

He found Clint, Bruce and Agent Coulson in their enormous living room, teaching Thor about Christmas. Somewhat skeptical over the wisdom of this course of action, Steve settled down on the couch to listen in.

Thor was newly returned from Asgard, and he was delighted and curious to see all of Midgard transformed into a state of anticipation for the upcoming global day of celebration. At least, that was how Thor described it. It was up to the Avengers to explain Christmas and Santa and holiday traditions to him. And naturally they did so in style.

"I am telling you," Thor said with excitement. "I must meet your Santa Claus. He must have a great weapon like Mjolnir in order to fly around the entire world in one night. I would learn of its power."

Clint barely held back a laugh. Even Steve smiled, although he wasn't sure he liked letting Thor go on believing this story for so long.

"Are you kidding me with this?"

Steve looked up sharply, and there was Tony lounging in the doorway, evidently returned from his trip. He was still wearing the suit and tie he had put on for form's sake, but the knot in the tie hung low, his jacket was nowhere in sight, and his shirt sleeves were rolled up.

"Anthony!" Thor stood up. "You wield great influence with your wealth. Can you arrange this meeting for me?"

"With Santa Claus," Tony said. He walked into the living room and went straight for the bar.

"Yes," Thor said. "He can visit every house in Midgard in one single night. That requires great—"

"You guys are incredible," Tony said, shaking his head. "How long were you going to let him believe that Santa is real?"

"Santa's not real?" Clint gasped. He clutched his heart like he was stricken. "You're shattering the last of my childhood illusions!"

Thor looked bewildered. "I do not understand."

Steve felt bad then. He thought back over the conversation, trying to remember a time when one of them surely must have explained the truth about Santa Claus and the spirit of Christmas – except nothing came to mind.

Across from him, Agent Coulson looked equally guilty. "Santa Claus is a myth," he said. "He doesn't exist."

"He's a fairy story we tell little kids to keep them happy," Tony said as he poured himself a drink.

"No," Thor said. "I have met fairies, and they do not sound at all like your Santa Claus."

Steve and Clint exchanged a look. Tony did a double take, nearly spilling amber liquor on the bar.

"That, that really isn't the point," Bruce said.

"The point is," Tony said to Thor, "you shouldn't believe half of what these guys tell you." He gestured to Clint. "Especially him."

The good-natured humor in the room was quickly deteriorating into an argument, and Steve rushed in to head it off. "Um, hey, Tony." He waited until he had the other man's attention before he said, "We were wondering earlier, how come this place isn't decorated for Christmas?" 

Ever eager to avoid confrontations of any kind, Bruce chimed in, "I bet you could have one heck of a display."

"Sure we could," Tony agreed easily. "But who's going to go outside and hang five thousand strands of Christmas lights? You?"

"I could," Bruce said. He looked at Clint. "But I think you'd do a better job of it."

"Me? Why me?" Clint demanded.

"Because you're used to being up in high places," Bruce said.

"I wish to see Christmas trees," Thor said. "They are quite beautiful."

"We can do that," Tony said. He drank from his glass. "Whatever you want. Knock yourselves out. Normally Pepper does this sort of thing, but she's back in California and I think this is one of those weeks where we're not speaking again, but hey, I'm sure you guys have a pleasing sense of the aesthetic too, right?"

Without missing a beat, Agent Coulson said dryly, "I've been told I do."

"There ya go," Tony said. He raised his glass to Coulson in a salute. "Have at it."

"And we must have mistletoe," Thor insisted. "Although why you persist in hanging such a dangerous plant is a mystery to me."

"Dangerous?" Steve and Clint said at the same time.

"It wields a mystical influence over you," Thor said. "Does it not? Coercing you into kissing the nearest person? I do not understand why you would submit yourselves to that."

Steve had to cover his mouth to hide his smile. Tony almost choked on his drink as he fought back laughter. "Well, that does it," he said. "We gotta have mistletoe. JARVIS?"

"Yes, sir?" As always, the AI's voice seemed to emanate from the ceiling.

"Whip up some mistletoe, would you?" He went on giving JARVIS instructions for creating holographic displays of the plant, while Agent Coulson quietly explained to Thor the tradition behind hanging mistletoe.

Clint rubbed his hands together and grinned wickedly. "Where's Tasha? This oughta be good."

Thor rose to his feet and slammed one hand down on the arm of the couch where he had just been sitting. The couch creaked alarmingly, the other end rising off the ground a few inches before settling back down with a bounce. "My friends!" he called. "This will be a Christmas to remember! I will even ensure that there is snow, so we can observe the tradition known as a 'white Christmas.'"

"No!" Bruce said loudly, at the same time Clint nearly shouted it.

"No messing with the weather," Coulson said pointedly.

Thor looked disappointed. "Not even for this celebration?"

"It would be nice to have a white Christmas," Steve said, "but you can't just change the weather like that."

"Huh. Okay, wow. Awkward." Tony looked uncomfortable, reaching up with one hand to rub at the back of his neck. "Were you guys all planning to spend Christmas _here_?"

Looks were exchanged throughout the room. "You don't want us to?" Clint asked.

"Well it's just… I was…" Tony was actually fidgeting now. He dropped his arm back to his side. "See, I was planning on going back to California. There's things I…" He trailed off.

Steve tried not to let his disappointment show. Of course Tony wouldn't want to spend Christmas with them. He had Pepper and Happy and Rhodey back in California. He had spent the last twenty years in Malibu. Why shouldn't he want to go back there now?

"But you must stay!" Thor looked distressed. "You are the host!"

"I live here now. I got nowhere else to go," Clint said, rather defiantly.

"Me either," Bruce chimed in.

It couldn't hurt to say it, too. "Me either," Steve said.

Tony visibly deflated then. "Yeah." He sighed. "Okay. Christmas in New York it is then."

Steve didn't know what to say. He was selfishly pleased that Tony was staying, but he felt guilty that they had pressured him into it. "You could invite your friends to come out here," he suggested.

Tony waved the offer aside. "Rhodey's got plenty of family and Pepper's going to be with her mom. I think. That's usually what she does. And Happy goes to his parents' house in Florida somewhere. They do this whole Disney thing at Christmas, it's actually really disgusting." He seemed to realize that he was babbling, and that they were all staring at him. "Hey, no, it's cool. It's fine." He smiled gamely, though nothing could quite hide the fact that the whites of his eyes were showing. "Christmas with the Avengers. It'll be great."

Thor beamed. "Yes, it will. You will see."

****

For the next few days, the entire team was kept busy decorating the Avengers Tower. Anything they wanted, Tony got, and usually without complaint. Colored lights began to appear on every line of the Tower, both inside and out. Enormous trees showed up and were dragged into various rooms. Garland and wreaths and holly festooned every available surface. And as promised, JARVIS dutifully displayed random images of mistletoe throughout the Tower, often in several places at once.

Much to Natasha's annoyance, many of those images popped into existence right over her head. She tolerated the first couple of kisses she received – a chaste one from Bruce and an almost shamefully passionate one from Clint – but after that, she glared daggers at anyone who even looked her way when the mistletoe appeared.

Thor delighted in spotting the stuff every time it showed up. He also took great pleasure in bestowing bone-cracking hugs and smacking kisses upon whoever was unfortunate enough to be close by at the time. Steve himself suffered through several of these indignities, but somehow it was impossible to get angry with Thor. He always ended up laughing at his own embarrassment, and so there was no harm done.

Toward the end of the week, another strong snowstorm passed through the New York City area. While the wind whipped snow and ice against the windows, they played rock and roll versions of Christmas carols and decorated a ten-foot tall tree that had showed up in the front lobby that morning.

Steve's heart was not in it that day, though. It was December 17th, a date he had committed to memory the very first time he had read it. He would never forget seeing the headline proclaiming that Howard Stark was dead. To be here today, in the home Howard's son had made for him, made him miss his old friend more than ever.

His lack of enthusiasm was noticeable to everyone else, and eventually Bruce asked him what was wrong. "Nothing," he said, handing another silver ornament to Natasha, who was perched on a ladder so she could reach the highest branches of the tree. "Just thinking of someone."

"They do not appear to be pleasant thoughts," Thor said with some concern. He was very into the Christmas spirit, and he worked hard to keep everyone feeling cheerful and festive, the way things were in all the holiday TV shows he was enamored with.

"No," Steve said. "Well, yes. I mean, not really, I guess." He was aware that they were all looking at him, but stupidly, his brain didn't make the connection. Before he could stop himself, he blurted, "Today's the anniversary of his passing. So it's kind of hard."

Thor laid a hand on his shoulder. "My friend, I am sorry for your loss."

There was a loud bang from across the room. Startled, they all looked up in time to see Tony backing away from the box of decorations he had just carried in and dropped to the floor. "Looks like you guys got this under control," he said tightly. "I'm just going to ah, grab a couple things. I'll be back later." He turned around and walked out, but not before Steve saw the absolute fury in his eyes.

He groaned.

Thor's hand tightened on his shoulder, the grip almost painful. "Captain? Are you all right?"

"Oh, sure," he said faintly. He reached blindly into the box of ornaments and held one up in what he hoped was Natasha's general direction.

Sure. He was fine, just fine. He was a complete, blithering idiot, but he was fine. He wasn't the one who had just accidentally walked into a room and heard someone else talk about mourning his dead father.

He waited as long as he could stand it – which was about ten minutes – before he handed the box of ornaments to Bruce and politely excused himself. He managed to keep to a calm walk until he was out of the room, then he quickly headed down to Tony's workshop.

His passcode had been disabled, which did not surprise him but did make him feel a weary sort of anger. He turned in a slow circle. "JARVIS? Where is he?"

"Mr. Stark has left the premises," JARVIS informed him. 

"As Iron Man?"

"No, sir. In a car."

He wasn't sure that this was any better. The only cars Tony owned were sleek and fast, and utterly unsuited for winter driving. Especially when the driver was under the influence of a hot temper – and probably some alcohol.

Steve sighed. "Will you let me know when he comes back?"

"Of course, Captain Rogers."

He was probably in for a long wait. That was okay, Steve decided. He had really screwed up, so now he had to pay the price. Slowly he walked back upstairs and returned to where the rest of the Avengers were still working on the monstrous tree. They seemed pleased to see him, and Clint thrust an ugly plastic Santa at him. "Here. Find a home for this."

He helped them finish decorating. Each of them seemed to go out of their way to be friendly toward him, now that they knew about his private grief. The gesture touched him deeply. They might bicker and argue among themselves – and quite often, at that – but they really were a team at heart.

When the tree was finally lit up, Natasha invited him to lunch. He declined and said he wanted to work out. Thor said he thought this was an excellent idea, and there was no polite way to refuse him, so Steve sparred with him for much of the afternoon. It turned out to be the best thing he could have done, helping him release pent-up frustration and anxiety, while giving him something to occupy his mind for a few hours.

Afterward, he thanked Thor gravely. The warrior just nodded. "Sometimes the mind is our greatest enemy," he said. "At such times, the body can be our greatest ally."

This was certainly true, as Steve had reason to know.

He showered and changed into some clean clothes, then settled down to wait for Tony. Outside, the weather was slowly getting better, but he still fretted over what Tony was doing. Tiny little sports cars had no business out there in the snow, and it was a sure bet that wherever Tony had ended up, he was drinking.

It was late afternoon when JARVIS finally informed him that Tony had returned. Full dark was still half an hour away, but the Tower was lit up all over. 

"Is he coming upstairs?"

"He is in the elevator," JARVIS said. "Heading for the main workshop."

He ran for the stairs, hoping to beat the elevator. Now that Tony was back, the focus of his worry had shifted from Tony's safety to what he was going to say. All day long he had been berating himself for his tactless error. He had never imagined, when he made that vow to keep Tony safe, that he would have to protect Tony from himself and his own stupidity, too.

He managed to make it to the workshop first, but it was awfully close. He was still brushing his hair back into place when the elevator doors opened and Tony walked out. He didn't look like he had been drinking, and that was a good sign. But he stopped dead when he saw Steve standing there, and the look on his face was definitely not welcoming. "I knew it," he said flatly. "Goddamnit, I knew it."

"We need to talk," Steve said. "We should have done it long ago, actually."

"No," Tony said. "We shouldn't. In fact I think talking is pretty much the _last_ thing we should do right now. All I want to do is get really, really drunk. And I know all _you_ want to do is be really, really sincere. And I gotta tell you – those two don't exactly go hand in hand. So how about we postpone the heart-to-heart for some other day?"

Steve took hold of Tony's upper arm and turned him bodily around. Tony uttered a startled yelp and tried to pull his arm free, but by then Steve was already propelling him forward.

He didn't take them into the workshop, because he knew Tony kept liquor in there, and he wanted Tony sober for this talk. Instead he led the way down the hall and into a small bedroom that so far as he knew had only been used one night – after their incident in Hydra's sewers. The night he had kissed Tony without knowing why he did it. Now he half-dragged Tony into the center of the room, then gave him a bit of a shove toward the bed. While Tony was busy staggering backward and trying to keep his balance, Steve snapped on the lights and shut and locked the door. Then he turned around, folded his arms over his chest, and said. "So. Let's talk."

"Okay, first of all—" Tony pointed at him – "You're fired. Second of all, if you ever manhandle me like that again—"

"You can't fire me," Steve protested. "I don't work for you."

"That…that doesn't matter. You're still fired."

"Okay, fine," Steve said with a sigh. "I'm fired. So, really. Let's talk."

Tony glared mutinously at him for a long moment, then he shook his head and made a short brutal noise that was probably meant to be a laugh. "Fuck."

"Come on," Steve said, trying to sound persuasive. "Is it really so bad that I considered your dad my friend?"

Tony held up a finger in a warning gesture. "Not my _dad_ ," he said curtly, and Steve remembered that while Tony spoke of Howard with fondness and used that intimate title in public, he had never done so in private.

He could respect that. "Your father, then," he said, going with the more formal mode of address. "He _was_ my friend, you know. I'm never going to regret that."

Tony just stared at him, jaw set, his shoulders slightly hunched. He looked like he was readying himself for a punch in the face, Steve suddenly realized. With a weary lack of surprise, he found himself wondering all over again just what had happened to Howard Stark, and how he could ever reconcile the man he had known with the man Tony had grown up with.

"Well, go on and ask then," Tony said harshly. "You know you want to."

And he did. He had so many questions, so many things he wanted to know. He hardly knew where to begin. But he was afraid to ask. He knew Tony would try to deflect his questions, and answer as vaguely as possible. He had seen Tony at work during the various press conferences the Avengers held; he knew how masterful Tony was with words, making it seem like he had answered a question when in fact he had merely talked in circles around it. And Steve was well aware that this was the only chance he was ever going to get at this.

So instead of asking, he said, "Tell me about him."

Tony's eyes narrowed, seeing through his ploy instantly. "I know. How about I tell you a story?"

Steve shifted his weight slightly so he could lean against the locked door at his back. "Okay."

"It's about a girl," Tony said. That took Steve by surprise. It was pretty much the last thing he had expected to hear. "A girl named Maria."

Steve got it then. He just nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

"Once upon a time there was a girl named Maria. She was beautiful, and very smart. She was a gifted physicist. She could have gone anywhere she wanted, but she chose to work for the government because she idolized one man and she wanted to work with him. Everyone told her she was crazy, but she didn't care.

"Maria was lucky. She got her wish. She was assigned to work with her idol, and she set about making him notice her. It wasn't easy. He was nearly twice her age and already married to his work. But she persevered and finally she got up enough courage to ask him out, and he was so surprised that he said yes.

"So they dated for a while and everyone envied them, two smart, beautiful people who had the whole world in the palm of their hands. After a while though, Maria knew she wanted more. She also knew her man would never take the next step on his own, so she told him that she wanted to get married. He resisted, saying he had his work and so did she, and that had to come first; what they did for the government and their country was far more important than any one person.

"And because she still believed this herself, Maria said she understood. She was willing to share him with the work, as long as he came up for air from time to time and remembered how much she loved him. He thought about this and finally said he could do that, and so he proposed to her in front of a hundred witnesses with roses everywhere and expensive champagne, and then he whisked her off to Paris.

"They got married and it was the event of the year. Everyone who was everyone was invited, and they all toasted the beautiful, smart, filthy rich couple. And for a few years, Maria and her new husband were very happy. But eventually her husband began to spend less and less time with her, and he drank more and more. She began to resent him for it.

"But her husband did try, occasionally. In his own way he did love her. Sometimes they would fly off to some exotic location and spend a month there, living the life of luxury, seeing things few other tourists got to see. It was on one of those special holidays that Maria became pregnant. She was ecstatic, and so was her husband. And for a few short months, things were good between them again. But when their son was born, they didn't know what to do. They were both brilliant, but their son was a genius. The boy was so smart he was scary. He never did that silly little baby talk thing; he just opened his mouth and started talking in complete sentences. And he was always taking things apart and putting them back together again, even before he could hold the proper tools.

"Maria didn't know how to handle her son. She tried her best, but she was in awe of him and she didn't understand him. Her husband was even less prepared to deal with him. He never knew what to say or how to act. Instead he just pushed his son to be the best, and he buried himself in his work, and he drank more and more, and sometimes when he had been drinking he talked with his hands, not words. He gave his son his first drink when he was just a child, saying it would make him a man. And even though the boy didn't like it, he drank it anyway, just to please his father. 

"See, the little boy knew something was missing, even if he couldn't understand it. He saw how the fathers on TV behaved toward their sons and he saw that he had nothing like that, and he ached for it. So he drank that single-malt bourbon and he built his circuit boards and his engines and he showed them off proudly, waiting for the praise that must surely come then, but the father never said a word. He just took another phone call from someone important, more important than his own son.

"So eventually the boy stopped trying, because even he could see that some things are a lost cause right from the start. He was shipped off to boarding school and he learned how to make everyone hate him and love him at the same time, and he skipped so many grades that the teachers didn't know what to do with him except skip him ahead again. When he came home in the summer he built robots to talk to, and when he got really lonely he built a computer that could talk back, and then he told himself he didn't feel so lonely anymore even though he really was.

"Then one day Maria and her husband died in a car accident. And their little boy, who wasn't so little anymore and who hadn't been a boy in a very long time, inherited everything. But he never shed a tear for them. Not when he heard the news, not at the funerals, and not in the years afterward. He was a genius, remember. He had taught himself how not to care anymore. It was the greatest thing he ever learned, and he didn't even have to go to MIT to learn it."

Tony spread his hands wide. His eyes never left Steve's face, dark and pitiless. "Take a good look. You want to know what kind of man Howard Stark was? The kind who produced a son like me."

Steve didn't even know when he had started crying, but the tears half-blinded him. He could not accept that everything he had believed about Howard was a lie. And yet the proof was in the man standing in front of him. This brilliant, beautiful, tortured man. "You're wrong," he said. He wiped at his eyes. "He loved you. He would be proud of you now, of everything you've accomplished."

"No," Tony said. There was no emotion in his voice, and his eyes were dead. "He wouldn't. You see, that's the difference between you and I. You still want to believe the best of him, the way you do about everybody. Me, I had to live with the reality. The way I always do." He walked stiffly forward. "Now get out of my way."

Numbly, Steve stepped aside. He made no move to stop Tony from unlocking the door and walking past him.

Slowly he bowed his face into his hands and he wept, mourning one last time for his old friend.

And for one lonely little boy.

****

His dreams that night were a blurry muddle of the past and the present. He dreamed of Howard explaining to him what fondue was, but it was Tony who spoke to him, Howard's voice coming out of his mouth. Then he was suddenly in the Quinjet on the return trip from Stuttgart and that very first mission with the Avengers, and he was saying that Howard was the best pilot he'd ever seen and asking Tony if he knew how to fly, and Tony just held up Iron Man's gauntlets and said curtly that yes, he did. Then he was back in that underground bunker and Peggy was stalking away from him, so very angry, and he threw his shield at Howard, shouting _why, why did you have to do it, why?_

When he woke up, he had a mild headache, which was in itself a cause for surprise, because he didn't get headaches anymore. Slowly he sat up in bed, and then he got his next shock. Just inside the door was a large cardboard box. There was a note taped to the top.

His first thought was JARVIS, but that was ridiculous, JARVIS was just an AI, he had no physical body. Someone had brought this up to his room and pushed it inside while he slept. Curious but also somewhat suspicious, he walked over to the box and read the note.

_Take what you want. Throw the rest away._ It was written in the precise block capital letters drafters and architects and engineers used. And even though he had never seen Tony's handwriting before, he recognized it instantly nonetheless.

More curious than ever, he opened the box and peered in. Nestled inside was a stack of old magazines, newspaper clippings, photographs, and other memorabilia. Each one contained a small handwritten caption and a date, but this writing was in a distinctly feminine hand. Pepper Potts? Or some random secretary at Stark Industries?

One by one he began taking the items out of the box. Right away he realized what he was looking at. On every magazine cover, on every sheet of newsprint, in every photograph, there was one face, over and over: Howard Stark.

The items were arranged in chronological order. They appeared to be in mint condition. That alone told him everything he needed to know. Someone had put this collection together at Howard's bequest. No one had ever been through it, or even cared about it. Certainly Tony had not looked through it. The fact that it was even here in New York, not California, spoke volumes about how little Tony cared about the contents of this box.

And they were fascinating contents, too. He sat on the floor and spread the items out so that Howard Stark's career unfolded before his eyes. He read about the Manhattan Project and Howard's contribution. He read about the government contracts, the new weapons designs, the patents and copyrights and inventions, the skyrocketing growth and wealth of Stark Industries.

There were many photographs too, documenting how well Howard had aged over the years. In his wedding photo there was barely any gray in his hair at all. He looked happy and relaxed, standing with his beautiful young bride. Seeing them together, it was easy to see where Tony got his looks from.

Only one photograph in the entire box showed the whole family. The date on it was February 1977. All three Starks were dressed in formal attire. They were standing on a raised platform in New York City; tall buildings rising all around them. Howard had his hand outstretched, about to shake hands with a man Steve recognized from watching historical documentaries on TV. Beside him, Maria Stark stood slim and tall, apparently unfazed at meeting the President of the United States of America. One hand rested lightly on her son's shoulder.

Just five years old then, Tony was beautiful. His hair was lighter, his face round and innocent with youth – but there was already something in his eyes that was far too old for his years. His expression was very solemn, and he looked uncomfortable in his little suit and tie, but he was not fidgeting. No doubt he had been coached extensively on how to behave when meeting the President.

Marveling, Steve touched the photograph lightly, not wanting to damage it. He ran his finger over Howard's hair. He stroked the silken sleeve of Maria's dress. He caressed the curve of Tony's cheek. "What happened to you?" he whispered.

He set the photograph aside and reached in for the next one. And his heart stopped.

This photo was not of Howard Stark, or anyone in the Stark family. It was much older, with most of the color faded away. There were several people in the photo, but the only ones Steve had eyes for were the man with the bushy white hair, and the scrawny kid who was shaking his hand.

His hand began to tremble. He had never thought to wonder about the photograph taken that day, or where it had ended up. How had it come into Howard Stark's possession? Who had owned it all the years he had been locked in that Arctic ice? "JARVIS!"

"Yes, Captain Rogers?"

The soothing tones of the AI calmed his racing heart a little. "This picture. Where did it come from?"

"I cannot see the picture you are referencing," JARVIS replied. "I do not have visual sensors in your room."

"Then activate them," Steve snapped. "Scan this. Whatever it is you need to do…" He held up the photograph.

"I’m sorry, Captain," JARVIS said. "I cannot do as you request."

Steve lurched to his feet. He held the photograph carefully by one edge. The top right corner was fraying, and there was a line across one side as though it had been folded once. "Where's Tony?"

"Mr. Stark is in the TV room," JARVIS answered.

"Thank you," Steve said. Barefoot, wearing nothing but the sleeping pants he had put on last night, he marched out of his room and headed down the hall.

It was still very early; the Tower had the hushed air about it that only seemed to fall at this hour, when no one had risen yet and tackled breakfast or visited the gym or hit the lab. Christmas lights made a colorful display on the walls as they blinked and flashed. Holographic mistletoe dangled from the ceiling outside his bedroom door.

Steve didn't care about any of that just then. He had only one thought, and that was to know how the photograph of himself and Dr. Erskine had ended up here. He didn't even bother with the elevator; he all but ran down the stairs at the end of the hall, and burst into the TV room.

None of the lights were on. The TV was thankfully muted; the enormous screen showed one of those modern cartoons where all the characters had huge eyes and waved their arms over their heads a lot as they shouted and yelled. Tony was lying on the couch, a blanket draped over him, one arm beneath his head. He was staring at the cartoon, but it was obvious that he wasn't really watching it.

"Where did you get this?" Steve waved the photograph.

Tony sat up in a hurry, the blanket falling to his lap. "Christ, warn a guy, would you?"

Steve ignored this. He walked forward and held out the picture. "Where did you get this?"

Tony glanced at it, then looked back up at him. "That's not mine," he said. "And if you got that where I think you got it, then you ought to know that."

"Okay, fine," Steve said. He forced himself to take a deep breath and calm down. "Where did Howard get this?"

"I have no idea," Tony said. His gaze flicked past Steve, no doubt judging if he could make a quick getaway if it became necessary. "I don't even know what it is."

"Then why don't you actually look at it?" Steve said, and held it out again.

Tony took the picture and gave it a cursory look. "Okay."

"Do you know who this is?" Steve asked. He pointed to the man with the white hair. "That's Dr. Abraham Erskine." He saw recognition dawn on Tony's face, so that he didn't even have to say who the scrawny kid was.

His attention fully engaged now, Tony stared down at the picture. "Son of a bitch," he breathed. "You really _were_ a little guy."

"Yeah," Steve said. "I really was."

Tony looked up, studying him. "Not so little anymore," he murmured. The look on his face made Steve's heart skip a beat. He knew that look. He had worn it himself many times these past few weeks, whenever he caught Tony doing something particularly sexy or graceful or amazing – which was most of the time, to be honest. To see that look on Tony's face, aimed at him, was almost too much.

Tony's eyes dropped down to the photograph again. He did another double-take. "Is that…Peggy Carter?"

Steve gasped. "You knew her?"

"Yeah," Tony said absently. "Well, I mean, not very well. She came by the house a couple times when I was—" He looked up and saw that Steve had gone white. "Whoa. Hey. You okay?"

"Yeah," Steve said faintly. There was a far-off roaring in his ears. It sounded like the air rushing past as the ice rose up to meet him. His legs went numb, and he had to sit down on the couch beside Tony and take several deep breaths.

He hadn't known that Peggy had continued her association with Howard Stark. He had somehow always thought that after the war she had gone her own way, staying with MI:5 and the British military. He had never thought to ask anyone about it though, and on his own he had avoided digging too deep into her past, not wanting to cause himself any more grief than was necessary. But this was an unexpected chance to learn more about her and her later years. "Tell me about her. How did you know her?"

Tony was watching him carefully, obviously not sure if he should continue. "Um, like I said, I didn't know her that well. She would visit every now and then, every couple years or so, and she and my parents would go out and…I don’t know. Talk. About you, I'm guessing now, seeing as how you look like you're about to pass out."

"No," he said. "No, I'm fine. Please tell me."

Still Tony hesitated before speaking. "She was a good person," he finally said. "I liked her. She was one of the few people who didn't talk to me like I was some kind of freak." He smiled. "And she always brought the coolest candy from England."

Steve smiled through the tears that burned his eyes. "She would do that."

"You knew her," Tony said.

"Yes," he said. "We worked together in the war." As if that ridiculous phrase, "worked together" could ever encompass everything Peggy had done for him – and what she had meant to him. "She was the first one to give me a chance to fight as Captain America. Her and your father, actually. I owed them both so much."

For once Tony did not bristle at the mention of Howard Stark. "And you loved her."

"Yes," Steve said, and God he was crying now, but he didn't care. "Well… I don't think I knew her well enough to love her. I don't know. But I think I could have. We…We were supposed to go dancing. When I…when I landed. We had a date."

"She was a great lady." Tony held out the photograph. "I meant what I said yesterday. I didn't cry for my parents. But I cried when I heard she had passed away."

Steve turned to stare at him. "Is that true?"

The sympathy on Tony's face was genuine. It had to be. Steve had never seen him like this before, the hard edges blunted by sorrow, his eyes soft with compassion. "Yes."

The first sob caught him by surprise, so he nearly choked on it. Then he just slumped forward, curling up over himself, sobbing with heartbreak and loss.

After a long moment, an awkward hand patted his back. "It's okay," Tony murmured. "It's okay."

In truth it was not okay and it would never be okay again, but at that moment in time, even that tiny bit of comfort was Steve's undoing. He turned and bowed his head on Tony's shoulder and he let himself cry. For all the things he had lost, for all the people he had loved, for all the times he had felt scared and confused and so out of his depth, for all the times he had not given in to his grief before – he cried.

It seemed like hours passed while he knew nothing but that grief and his horrible loneliness. Eventually, though, he cried himself out, and he became aware of what he was doing. Specifically the fact that he was clinging to Tony Stark like a little kid, and that Tony was rubbing his back in a soothing, repetitive gesture.

His first reaction was embarrassment, followed swiftly by a terrible, selfish longing. He didn't want to sit up and ruin this moment. The last time he had been this physically close to Tony was during the flight to Sydney, when Tony had been the one to break down crying – although unlike Steve, he had rejected any comfort. Regardless of the shameful circumstances, though, he wanted to make this last. He wanted to remember everything about this moment. The touch of Tony's hand on his bare back. The way Tony smelled right now. The security that came just from knowing that he was there.

But it could not last forever, and already Tony was subtly shifting his weight, and with reluctance and a return of his original embarrassment, Steve lifted his head and sat up. He wiped at his eyes. "Thank you," he muttered. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" Tony asked. "Being human? Happens to the best of us, you know."

He looked up and saw the light mockery in Tony's smile, but there was something else there, too, a strange kind of sorrow that he could not explain. Then it was gone, as Tony lightly clapped him on the shoulder. "Hey, you hungry?" He pushed back the blanket that had somehow gotten balled up between them, and stood up. "I can make my world-famous omelet."

Steve sniffed back the last of his tears. "Yeah," he said. "I think I'd like that."

"You're on," Tony said, and he headed for the kitchen.

Steve followed closely behind. The intimacy they had just shared still lingered, giving him courage – but not enough, never enough, for he still could not make himself say the words he so desperately longed to say. Instead, as Tony started pulling ingredients out of the refrigerator, he said, "Can I ask you something?"

"Uh." Tony's head popped up from over the top of the refrigerator door. "Oh God. You have the earnest puppy dog face on."

Steve blinked. "What? I do not have—"

Tony raised an eyebrow. "Have you not seen you in the mirror?"

"I—" He pursed his lips, finally accepting that the moment on the couch was well and truly gone now. Honestly, he should have known better than to think something like that would last. "Stop that. Don't change the subject."

Tony's head disappeared again. "Note to self," he murmured. "Vanity does not work as a diversionary tactic on Captain America. Am I the only one who falls for that?"

"You know I'm not going to answer that," Steve said. "And you're still trying to change the subject."

Tony stood up, his hands full of eggs, cheese, and an unlabeled jar of something green. He swung his hip into the refrigerator door to make it close, and Steve's mouth went dry at the sight. "You're really not going to give up, huh? All right, fine. Ask. But I'm warning you now, if the words 'father' or 'Howard' are about to cross your lips, you might as well save your breath."

"No," Steve promised. The time for talking about Howard was long past and he knew it. "I just… When you said you would stay here for Christmas." He stopped, not sure how to ask his question. He had been thinking about it for days now, puzzling over the conversation, taking it apart and searching for hidden meanings. It was what he did with everything Tony said lately, trying to work out what Tony was _really_ saying. "First you said you were going to California, but then you said everyone there already had plans. So why exactly were you going? How were _you_ going to spend Christmas?"

With careful, deliberate movements, Tony set the ingredients for his omelet on the counter. He did not look up at Steve. "The way I always did," he said. "Working. Alone." Then before Steve could say anything, he added swiftly, almost angrily, "And yes, I'm perfectly aware of how sad and clichéd that is, I don't need you to remind me. Are we through here? Because I'm pretty damn hungry and this thing isn't going to cook itself."

Steve had pretty much expected that answer – a week of going over it in his head had convinced him that it was in fact the _only_ answer – but that didn't make it any less troubling to hear. But it was obvious that Tony did not want to talk about it, and their friendship was already strained enough thanks to his tactless behavior yesterday over Howard, so he didn't push the issue. "Okay. What do you need me to do?"

Tony looked up at him suspiciously, but the sincerity on Steve's face must have eased his worries, for he relaxed and said, "Get the pan out from that cabinet. No, the other one."

Steve did as he was told, and set the pan on the stove. "For the record, though," he said, "I'm glad you changed your mind."

"Yeah, well, we'll see how well that works out."

Steve smiled a little. "We will."

Tony just rolled his eyes as he cracked an egg on the side of the pan.

An hour later, the rest of the team wandered in and found them sitting in front of the demolished remains of breakfast. Clint immediately began to complain that there was nothing left, and Bruce made a mild comment about sharing, and Thor wondered what an omelet was, but Natasha just poured herself some coffee and gave Steve a long, measuring look.

He didn't care much for that look. It spoke of too much knowledge and too many assumptions. It made him very aware that while Tony was properly dressed in a long-sleeve thermal shirt and sweat pants, he himself was still barefoot and shirtless. And although it was December in New York, the kitchen was warm enough that he felt perfectly comfortable – a result of the soothing heat pouring through the overhead vent.

It was time to go. He picked up his plate, stood up, and moved to gather Tony's plate.

"Mistletoe!" Thor called out with a grin.

Automatically everyone looked at Natasha first; she glared back, silently daring them to try. But Thor wasn't pointing at her. He was pointing at Steve. And Tony.

Steve looked up, and sure enough, there was the holographic mistletoe. He supposed this moment had always been inevitable, given how frequently the image popped up these days, but that still didn't prevent him from flushing hotly.

He was tempted. Oh, he was tempted. The mistletoe provided the perfect excuse, too. He could always laugh it off later and pretend it was just a joke.

Except he didn't want it to be a joke. He wanted his first kiss with Tony to be something real. Something special. Never mind that there was never going to be a first kiss. He could still dream of it, and he wasn't about to lose that dream to a silly joke.

"How 'bout that," Tony said. And while Steve just stood there, blushing and frozen, Tony stood up and kissed him.

It wasn't much of a kiss, really. Just a quick press of Tony's lips to his. And though Steve didn't move, it felt like his entire body went reeling under that brief touch, like the world was spinning incredibly fast and he was at the center of it, nothing but sensation and sudden, overwhelming desire.

The kitchen erupted in laughter. Tony stepped back, grinning. He gave a little shrug. "What can I say? I'm a traditionalist."

"Yeah, right," Clint laughed. "That's a good one."

Steve sat down in the chair Tony had just vacated. It was either that or let them all see the horribly embarrassing evidence of the heat currently flooding his body. "Okay, you can do your own dishes after that." They all laughed again, and he felt a dim relief at how normal his voice sounded.

"Dishes? I've heard that word before but I can't…quite…place it." Tony made a dismissive little gesture toward the table and their dirty plates. "Don't these things clean themselves up?"

"Not in the normal world," Bruce said with a smile.

"Oh," Tony said, "well, there's the problem then."

There was some more laughter, and then Clint opened the refrigerator and began to rummage around, and Bruce began explaining what an omelet was to Thor, and finally the mistletoe winked out of existence and Steve could breathe again.

All day long he thought about that kiss. It had happened so fast, but he remembered every detail. The taste of Tony's lips, the way Tony had closed his eyes in that split second beforehand. The thin scar on his neck, legacy from the Mandarin's kidnapping attempt. The heat of his body right there in front of Steve's, mere inches separating them. He felt like he had been given something precious, something completely unexpected, something he hadn't even known was missing from his life. 

And he wanted more. So many more. It was hard to remember that that was never going to happen.

It wasn't until later that night, as he lay in bed trying – and failing – to fall asleep, that he stopped thinking about the physical aspect of the kiss, and began to wonder about its significance. If indeed it had any. Maybe it truly was nothing but a joke.

But he didn't think so. Tony had been very angry with him yesterday. Giving him the box of Howard's things had been one step toward reconciliation, but a kiss was far more intimate. Tony would not have done it, even as a joke, if he were still angry with Steve for mourning his father. The kiss had to be his way of saying he had forgiven Steve.

Or maybe he hadn't. Maybe he just felt sorry for him after witnessing Steve's breakdown that morning. Maybe the kiss was a way of saying, _Cheer up, there are still good things in this crazy world you woke up in._

Or maybe there really was something to the way Tony looked at him sometimes, and the way the rooms in the house heated up when he walked in, all because of one random comment he had made once. Maybe when Tony had said _Because of you_ in Sydney he hadn't just been referring to the plane trip. Maybe he wasn't alone with these strange and scary feelings. Maybe that kiss was a hint of things to come, a promise of a future filled with all kinds of kisses. Or maybe it had been a way to test him, to see his reaction, in which case he had failed spectacularly.

He groaned and buried his face in his pillow. Or maybe he was just torturing himself, imagining all kinds of thoughts and motives where none existed. 

Just a joke then. He would tell himself that, and he would make himself believe it, even while he continued to feel the phantom touch of Tony's lips on his. He would believe it, because there was simply no other choice. To believe anything else was to drive himself mad with the not-knowing.

****

Christmas was less than a week away now, and the drawing of Natasha was not going well. Three times he had started it, only to crumple it up and start over again.

The problem was that he could not capture her properly. What he really needed was a photograph of her in action, but of course that was not something he could just ask for, and anyway even if he could, he could never explain it. Going from memory was not working, though, and he was beginning to think he would never finish her gift.

Midway through his fourth attempt it abruptly occurred to him that he didn't need a photograph. He had the next best thing right here. He just needed to ask for it.

"JARVIS?"

"Yes, Captain Rogers?"

"Can you please let Tony know that I'm coming down? I need to ask him a favor."

"Of course."

He put his sketchpad and pencils away, then hurried down to the workshop. The tinted windows still did not allow him to see inside, and the soundproofing meant he couldn't hear anything either. Nonetheless he knew Tony was hard at work in there – and he was proven right when Tony himself opened the doors and stood there glaring at him. "What are you doing here you can't come in what do you want," he said, all in a rush.

He did his best not to peek over Tony's shoulder. "Your suit records all our fights, right?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"I need the recording of our last fight. The one with the Doombots."

Tony hesitated, a strange look on his face. There was a smear of grease down the side of his neck, and his hands were filthy. Steve thought he looked absolutely gorgeous. "Video only, or you want audio, too?"

"Video only is fine," he said, wondering what was on the audio file that Tony did not want him to hear.

"Okay, sure." From within the workshop, something fell over with a resounding crash and the unmistakable sound of breaking glass.

Tony's jaw tightened. Without looking behind him, he called, "If that's not picked up in ten seconds, I'm selling you to that gold broker with those crappy TV commercials."

The robot responsible for the mess – one Tony had had shipped here from California – whined in response. It actually sounded apologetic, something Steve could never get used to. It was amazing enough being able to hold a conversation with JARVIS, a disembodied artificial intelligence who lived inside the Tower itself. But those robots were another thing altogether. Not quite alive, not quite just heartless machines, but something in between.

"I'll get it to you tomorrow," Tony said. He started to back away, closing the doors as he went.

"Um," Steve said.

Tony paused with an impatient scowl. "You did hear that, right? The sound of something breaking? I really need to—"

"Can't you give it to me now?" Steve asked quickly.

Tony sighed. "What's so urgent?"

"I can't tell you," Steve said. "The same way you won't let anyone see what you're doing in there."

Comprehension dawned on Tony's face. "Hang on." He disappeared inside the workshop again, shutting the doors and locking Steve out.

"Where else am I going to go?" Steve muttered, and sighed.

It wasn't long before the doors opened again, though. Tony held out a slim device. "Plug this into your computer. It will auto-play."

Steve nodded and pretended he knew what that meant. If he couldn't figure it out on his own, he could always ask JARVIS for help. "Thanks."

"Sure," Tony said, and he backed away again. Just before the doors shut, Steve heard a new crash from within the workshop, and he winced in sympathy.

Like all the Avengers, Steve had a SHIELD-issued laptop. Almost before the paint had been dry on the newly renovated Tower, though, Tony had declared that the laptops were crap, and made his own "secret" upgrades to them. Upgrade or no, Steve rarely used his; he doubted he had even turned the machine on more than twice. Still, he got it powered up just fine, with only one or two pauses to remember how to make it work. And as Tony had promised, the video came up right away, once he figured out where to plug in the little device that held it.

He sat there expectantly, sketchpad on his lap, pencil poised over the paper. Almost immediately though, he realized that he was not going to be able to draw anything off the video. Not yet, at any rate. He needed to just watch it first. Maybe several times, in fact.

The video was only a couple weeks old. In it they were battling Doctor Doom's latest batch of robots. Everyone knew Doom only released the Doombots against them to learn their skills and capabilities so he could program the next set of bots to be immune to those abilities. But they still couldn't exactly let the things run loose in New York City, so every time Doom unleashed them, they dutifully suited up, complaining the whole way. Then they went out and did what needed to be done.

In reality it had been a bitterly cold day, and raining. On the video, the weather was practically nonexistent. There was also no sound, which was hard to get used to. Most annoying of all, the picture was never still, partly because Iron Man had spent most of that battle in flight, but also because his attention constantly shifted. One second he was studying two Doombots that swooped out of the sky. Next he was scanning the horizon, checking for more threats. Next he was checking out Black Widow as she kick-jumped over a smoking mass that had been a whole Doombot just seconds prior. Next he was sparing half a second for the readout on the display inside the helmet. And then he was back to the fighting, watching Captain America bash his shield down on one of the Doombots.

Watching himself on a video was very strange.

Even stranger was the realization that the bulk of the footage was focused on himself. The video was clear proof that Tony watched over all of them as Iron Man, but there could be no doubt that the majority of his time was spent looking after Steve.

He didn't know what to do with that. When the video ended, he just sat there, staring blankly at the empty screen.

The video was a fascinating insight into Tony's head. Steve had often wondered just what went on behind the armor during their battles, and now he knew. Tony didn't just monitor the entire battle from the strategic advantage his aerial position provided – he was always keenly aware of each of his teammates and their status, ready to come to their aid should it be required.

For this battle – and for how many others? – he had specifically looked out for Captain America more than anyone else. Not because Steve had needed any assistance, or even had any problems fending off his share of the Doombots. But because…

Why?

Had he watched this two months ago, before his late-night epiphany, he suspected he would be feeling angry right now. He would have interpreted Tony's excessive attention as a slight on his ability to fend for himself in the heat of battle. But two months ago he hadn't been wildly, improbably, in love. What he would have seen once as an insult, he saw now for what it really was: the urge to protect, to shelter, to keep safe. Even if Tony didn't – couldn't, wouldn't – love him the way Steve did, he obviously _did_ care. 

That was a big deal. It was a very big deal. He had joined the ranks of a very select few, those people Tony Stark genuinely cared about.

It was humbling and exhilarating and terrifying. Right then and there, staring at the computer screen, he decided that he would tell Tony how he felt on Christmas Day. He could go on forever making excuses about needing to find the right time. What could be more perfect than Christmas? He would share his heart and see what happened. All those thoughtful looks when Tony thought he didn't notice, every time the room heated up when he walked in, that kiss he could not stop thinking about – maybe all of that truly did mean something. And maybe, just maybe, all those tiny little moments he had been hoarding for the past few weeks would finally take shape into something larger, something infinitely more precious.

Maybe he would finally find out if he was alone with everything he was feeling.

****

Christmas Eve night they all gathered together in the enormous living room with the enormous TV and the enormous Christmas tree, watching holiday specials and mocking them mercilessly – except for Thor, who loved them all, and Steve, who was secretly enamored of them too, although he knew better than to show it.

Halfway through their second viewing of "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer", Agent Coulson arrived. He stood in the doorway and cleared his throat. As one, they looked up at him expectantly.

"You should see this, Thor," Coulson said. He didn't exactly smile, but it was obvious that his mood was light-hearted tonight.

They all got up, of course, and went out on the balcony. Immediately Steve was assaulted by the cold, and a biting wind. He fought the absurd urge to hug himself, and just stood there.

Thor was not as stoic. "It snows!" he cried. "We shall have a white Christmas after all!" He held up a hand, watching as the flurries landed on his palm. The grin that split his face was almost child-like in its innocence and delight.

Steve couldn't help smiling at the sight. He loved Thor and his honest, open approach to the world around him. In many ways Thor's naiveté about Earth was his own, and he was ashamed to admit he sometimes used that as a different kind of shield, hiding behind the thunder god's ignorance in order to cover for his own. But this was different. This was just Thor, throwing himself into his adopted realm's traditions with the same exuberance he showed with everything.

"Sorry to burst your bubble," Clint said, "but this isn't going to stick. See?" He gestured to the balcony railing, where the snow was melting as soon as it landed.

"Yeah, this is it," Bruce murmured.

Thor's disappointment was so obvious that Steve felt bad for him. "But hey," he said, "this is good too, right? At least you got to see some Christmas snow."

Thor nodded. "Indeed I have. And I am grateful for it, too. It is an event made even greater by witnessing it with my friends and shield-brothers."

"Yeah." Tony clapped his hands. "That's my cue to go in. I, ah, I'm just gonna…. Yeah." He made a vague gesture over his shoulder, then slipped back inside.

The others filed in one by one. Steve was utterly grateful for the warmth that flooded the room; he felt chilled to the bone even from that short time spent standing in the snow. He rubbed his hands briskly up and down his arms a couple times, then forced himself to stop.

Tony was nowhere in sight. On the TV, Rudolph was just meeting his new friend the elf.

"Who wants another eggnog?" Natasha asked.

****

"Good morning, Captain Rogers. It is 7:00 a.m. The temperature outside is 38 degrees. The temperature inside is 28 degrees. May I suggest you dress warmly. And Merry Christmas, sir."

JARVIS's soothing voice sounded just the slightest bit amused this morning, and it wasn't until Steve was halfway in the shower that he replayed the conversation and figured out why. "Wait. Temperature inside?"

The instant he went downstairs, he understood what JARVIS had meant. The living room, the one where they had sat last night making up new lines of dialogue for Frosty the Snowman that bordered on pornographic, had been transformed. All the furniture had been removed. The only thing that remained was the Christmas tree in the corner, bathed in colored lights. The silver star that had perched on top was gone this morning, though. In its place was a very small, very loud version of the robots Tony used in his workshop.

The robot angel was spraying snow into the room.

So were three others, strategically placed in the corners.

Steve stopped dead in his tracks. There was easily six inches of snow in the room already. It was cold enough in here to frost his breath and make him shiver.

"What…?" In amazement, he just stared.

"Too much? I think it's too much. What do you think?" Across the room, Tony stood beside one of the robots. He looked tired, but enormously pleased with himself. He was wearing a thick black coat that was long enough to reach past his knees. Snowflakes dusted his hair and shoulders. The lights from the Christmas tree reflected off the moisture in his hair and on his coat, enclosing him in a corona of ever-changing color. He looked achingly beautiful, and Steve's throat closed up at the sight.

"You did all this," he managed. "For Thor."

Tony shrugged. "Well, he did want a white Christmas."

He would never cease being amazed by the paradox that was Tony Stark, the careless selfish playboy and the incredibly generous man. He wanted to run forward then and kiss Tony senseless, hold him close and reveal his heart. It was the perfect time, Christmas morning, surrounded by this magical snow, just the two of them…

"What the hell?" Clint stumbled into the room behind him, and just like that, the moment was gone. "Oh my God. Stark. What did you do?"

Tony spread his hands and grinned. "I made it snow. Who needs a thunder god to interfere with the weather when you've got me around?"

And even though he had lost his chance, Steve couldn't help grinning back. He could honestly say that he had never loved Tony more than at this moment. 

"What's going on?" Natasha wandered up, looking both dazed and freezing. "What happened?"

Steve stepped further into the room to allow them access to come inside. He was reluctant to go too far in, though. Something held him back. He didn't want to be the first person to make footprints on that field of pristine snow. That honor did not belong to him.

"Avengers!" Thor's voice boomed out from behind them. "Why do you not go inside?"

They turned to look at him. Clint was grinning like a loon. "See for yourself."

Thor pushed past them, saw the snow, and stopped dead. "What is this?"

"Merry Christmas, buddy," Tony said. The little robot atop the tree trilled a mechanical greeting, then went back to spraying its miniature fountain of snow.

Thor surveyed the scene in wonder. "It has snowed!" He looked at the tree with its colored lights and dusting of snow, then at the robots in the corners who were busily filling the room with the manufactured snow. "Anthony! You did this?"

"Guilty as charged," Tony said.

Thor's expression changed to one of stunned gratitude. "You did this…for me?"

"You wanted it," Tony said. "And Mother Nature wasn't exactly cooperating, so…urk!" He broke off as Thor rushed forward and enveloped him in a crushing embrace.

"Thank you," Thor said somberly, his arms still around Tony. "Thank you."

"Hey Tho-oor," Clint sing-songed. "Check it out." He pointed to a spot on the ceiling above the god's head.

Steve looked, and there it was. Mistletoe.

"JARVIS…" Tony began, a warning note in his voice. Then he didn't say anything at all, as Thor kissed him soundly.

It was all in fun, just a holiday thing, just mistletoe, just Thor – but Steve was shocked and dismayed by the hot jealousy that surged through him at that kiss. He couldn't look away as Tony squirmed and pushed at Thor's arms, and Thor picked his head up and laughed in that booming voice he had. "Truly this is a Merry Christmas!" 

"Uh…why do I have the feeling I just missed something?" Bruce walked in, his eyes wide with shock.

Thor moved around to stand beside Tony, one arm slung over Tony's shoulders. "See for yourself! Anthony has made it snow for us!"

"I see that," Bruce said. He looked around the room, then back at Tony. One eyebrow raised. "I take it your insurance is going to pay for all this?"

"Nah," Tony waved it off. "I was getting tired of this room anyway. Time for a renovation."

"Well, you picked one heck of a way to do it," Bruce said.

"We're not seriously going to do gifts in here, are we?" Natasha asked. Her lips were turning blue.

"Hell no," Clint said.

"Coffee first?" Bruce asked hopefully.

Tony pointed at him. "Coffee first. Definitely. Then gifts. Downstairs."

"Ooh, we're going to be allowed in Santa's workshop?" Clint asked with a wicked gleam in his eye.

"Not you," Tony fired back. "You're just getting coal."

"Let's go," Natasha said. "I'm freezing."

Steve was too, but for once he didn't mind the cold.

****

After coffee, he hurried back to his room for the drawings. He had finished the one of Natasha late last night, the last one left, and he still wasn't entirely satisfied with it. There was no more time to fuss with it though – it would just have to be good enough.

He arrived in the workshop in time to hear Bruce saying, "It's okay. You didn't know. No big deal."

"It is," Thor said dispiritedly. "My first Midgardian Christmas, and I have already done poorly."

"What's going on?" Steve asked. Someone had put six stools together in a loose circle in the middle of the floor. He sat down on the lone empty one, clutching the drawings close to his chest so no one could peek. Christmas carols were playing on the sound system, and colored lights hung in loops from the ceiling. The lights were placed with such precision that he knew instantly one of the robots had done it.

"I have failed you all," Thor said.

"No, he hasn't," Natasha said firmly.

"I hardly call bringing a cask of Asgardian mead 'failing,'" Tony said. "In fact, some might even call that a rousing success." He grinned.

Still baffled, Steve looked to Bruce for help.

"Thor didn't realize he was supposed to bring gifts for everyone as individuals," Bruce explained. "He just brought one cask for all of us."

"It's fine," Tony said hastily, "It's good, it's all good. Okay, who's first?"

"Me," Clint said, stepping up. "You do realize you all are the hardest people to shop for in the entire _universe_ , right? So I didn't even try. So…here you go." He handed each of them a slip of paper folded over in half.

Steve took his with a murmur of thanks. His name was written on the top in small, concise handwriting. He unfolded the paper and saw that there were just two words written there. _Where to?_

Puzzled, he looked up, and saw the other Avengers doing the same. Clint cleared his throat. "I don't really have anything to give," he said, "but I can take you anywhere you want. On the Quinjet. Anytime. No questions asked. And I promise it will remain off the radar. A little heads-up would be nice, but is not required." He cleared his throat again, obviously embarrassed and awkward at being the center of attention. "I know it's not much, but—"

"No, it's great," Bruce said.

"It is," Steve agreed. Already he was imagining it, flying off somewhere private and alone, just him and Tony, together at last. The thought made him smile.

Clint smiled back, completely unaware of what Steve was thinking, but evidently pleased by his reaction. "Okay, then. Well, Merry Christmas, guys."

Natasha went next. She handed out her boxes solemnly, then sat back down. "Go on."

Inside was a knife. For each of them. Bruce's blade was fearsomely jagged, to keep people back so he would hopefully not have to bring the Other Guy into the equation. Clint's was lightly balanced for throwing. Steve and Thor had shorter blades for close quarters fighting. Tony's was detachable, so it could be attached to the suit and thrown.

"Not bad," Tony said with a wink. He turned the blade over in his hand. "I think I can work with this."

Natasha glared. "It's fine as is," she said.

"Have you ever met anything even remotely mechanical that you didn't feel the need to tinker with?" Bruce asked.

"Not yet," Tony said, flashing them a quick grin.

"You're so smart, you go next then," Natasha said.

"Oh no," Tony said. "I'm the host. I go last."

"Fine," Bruce said with the vaguest suggestion of an eyeroll. "I'll go."

Bruce gave them each a book. When Steve saw what the gifts were, he expected his to be a treatise on military strategy or history. And he wasn't completely wrong – it was about history, but not of any foreign country or government. It was a book of art history.

The gift was very thoughtful – he hadn't even realized that Bruce knew what art meant to him. Bruce had only seen him drawing that one time, but he had obviously remembered it. The gesture made him very glad he had decided not to draw that shadow on Bruce's portrait; he would have felt terrible repaying the other man's kindness by making him see himself forever captured on paper as a monster.

And then it was his turn. Nervously he passed out the drawings. They were unframed, since he figured each person would want to do something different with theirs. The papers rustled in his hand as he smiled at each of them, hardly daring to meet their eyes. He quickly returned to his seat so he could see their reactions.

"Whoa," Clint said in appreciation.

"Steven? You did this yourself?" Thor asked.

"Yes," Steve said.

"It's incredible," Natasha said.

"Brilliant," Bruce said.

Tony didn't say anything. He just stared at Steve with the strangest expression, like he had never seen him before. Then he gave himself a small shake, like he suddenly remembered where he was and what was expected of him. "This is amazing," he said slowly. "I didn't know you could draw like that." Then he grinned. "Do you accept commissions?"

"Don't do it!" Clint said immediately.

Steve laughed, almost giddy with relief. Tony had liked the drawing. He was happy they all appreciated their gifts, but he could not lie to himself – Tony's reaction was the one that had really mattered.

"Right then," Tony said. He set the drawing aside carefully. "And now…the moment you've all been waiting for. JARVIS?"

The soft Christmas carols stopped and were replaced with a loud rock version of "Joy to the World." The lights dimmed, leaving only the colored bulbs on the ceiling to illuminate the large space. Several robots came forward, bearing gifts in their mechanical arms. "My fellow Avengers," Tony intoned, "I give you, your Christmas presents."

It wasn't a robot who approached Steve though – it was Tony himself. "You," he said, speaking normally now. "Come with me." He began walking toward one corner of the workshop, where a very large dustcloth covered an object resting on the floor.

Obediently Steve followed him. It was stupid, he knew it was stupid, but his heart had begun to pound in his chest. All he could think about suddenly was that kiss under the mistletoe, and how it had felt to have Tony's lips pressed to his. He was convinced that Tony was going to kiss him again. He knew it was impossible – yet he was absolutely certain of it.

But Tony did not kiss him. What Tony did do was pull the dustcloth off the object on the floor with a snap of his wrist and a melodramatic flourish. "Merry Christmas, Cap."

Dumbfounded, Steve could only stare. He heard the pleased and amazed sounds his teammates were making, but he could not turn around to see what caused them. He had eyes only for the motorcycle.

Everything was vintage, he knew that without a doubt. The chrome gleamed and the leather shone. The tires were unscuffed, unmarked by the road. He longed to take it out, to hear the engine roar to life, to feel the vibration beneath his legs. He reached out with one hand and stroked the curve of the headlight. "Wow."

"You like it?" Tony asked, somewhat anxiously.

Steve nodded. He looked up and smiled. "It's incredible. Thank you."

Tony smiled back, obviously relieved.

"What is this?" Thor called out loudly. He stomped toward them, holding a piece of paper. "I do not understand. This has Jane's name on it."

"Oh," Tony said. He glanced behind Thor to where the others still sat – Bruce with the microscope in his lap, Clint and Natasha comparing their new toys. "I didn't know…couldn't really give you an upgrade," Tony said, a bit awkwardly. "And it's not like you need any of our Earth stuff. So I thought… It's just a certificate, proof of funding. For Jane's research. For five years."

There were actually tears in Thor's eyes. "My friend…" He seemed overcome. "This…" He swept Tony into a bone-crushing embrace. "Thank you. Thank you."

"Welcome," Tony gritted out, trying not to wince.

Thor released him. "Did you see her? Did you meet my Jane?"

"Ah, no," Tony said, stepping prudently back, out of Thor's reach. "That would have just been…weird, so that would be a no. Pepper did all the legwork on this one. But hey, she sounds really great, really smart. You're a lucky guy."

"I am," Thor said gravely. His eyes shone with the depth of his feeling for Jane Foster, and Steve couldn't help marveling over it. Whoever she was, she must be amazing to make a god fall in love with her.

He wasn't envious, though, he told himself. Why should he be? He was glad Thor was happy, and that was all that mattered.

"You realize I gotta go try this out now, right?" Clint held up the new scope for his bow.

"I'm counting on it," Tony said. "How else am I going to get you all out of my space?"

"Ha ha," Clint said. "Just you remember, the cask of mead is upstairs. You gotta come up sometime."

"No mead until dinner," Natasha said almost primly as she buckled the new Widow's Bite about her wrists. She closed one eye and took aim at Clint. He grinned.

Steve glanced longingly at the motorcycle. It was far too cold to take it out for a ride; it would probably be months yet before he would get to enjoy it. He didn't really mind, though. It gave him something to look forward to.

"Yeah, it's not completely ready yet," Tony said.

Startled, he looked up, wondering when Tony had moved to stand directly beside him. "What?"

"I said, it's not ready yet." Tony gestured to the bike. "It has to be balanced." He paused. "That means you're going to have to work with me for a little bit. Test it out. That kind of thing."

"Oh," Steve said. A second later, it struck him what that meant, and he suddenly felt warm all over. "Oh."

"That okay with you?" Tony gave him a look that if Steve didn't know better, would almost qualify as worried.

"Yeah," he said quickly. "Yeah, that's fine." Spending hours down here, astride the bike, the vibration between his legs, riding it for short spells, maybe even with a passenger, maybe even with _Tony_ as a passenger…what could possibly be bad about that?

"Great," Tony said, and clapped him on the shoulder. "Now get out." He raised his voice. "All of you. I have work to do."

****

Steve spent the bulk of the day at the youth shelter, giving out gifts and trying to give the kids a happy Christmas. He was grateful for how busy they kept him. Anything to keep his mind off what he was planning to do tonight.

When he returned to the Tower, it was well after dark. Mouth-watering smells emanated from the kitchen. He went in and found both Bruce and Clint standing at the counter, wearing frilly aprons and giggling; apparently someone had opened the cask of mead a little early. Natasha was at the stove, stirring something in a pot, watching them with faint amusement.

"Captain!" Thor boomed from behind him. "You must share a glass with us!"

Steve held out his hand. "Yes. Definitely yes." He didn't know if he could get drunk off Asgardian mead, but a little alcohol to help boost his courage could only be a good thing.

Thor left to get him the drink. Steve looked around the kitchen and said, "Where's Tony?"

"Um, surveying the damages, I think," Bruce said. "Last time I checked."

Clint said, "Man, I still don't get it. What kind of guy trashes his own house just for a joke?"

He spoke in honest bewilderment, not out of spite, but the words still rubbed Steve the wrong way. "A good guy," he snapped. "That's who."

And that was it, he suddenly decided. It was time to do this.

He left the kitchen and made his way to the living room. Almost as an afterthought, he stopped to grab his coat and put it on. Just in case.

Not much had changed from this morning. It was still bitterly cold in the living room, making him glad he had put his coat on. Snow still covered the floor. The only illumination came from the Christmas tree lights, which blinked off and on in a steady pattern. The little robots in the corners were quiet now. The one on the tree whirred curiously as Steve entered the room, then fell silent.

Tony was standing by the tree. He had his coat on, too. He looked up when Steve came in and gave him a self-deprecating smile. "Hey."

"Hey," Steve said.

It really was cold in here. Hands thrust in his coat pockets, he walked over to stand next to Tony. He kept his eyes on the tiny robot perched atop the tree as he said, "You know, I didn't get a chance to say anything this morning, but all this… It's…"

"Pretty stupid, I know," Tony said. "My insurance agent is going to go through the roof." He shrugged. "Oh well."

"No," Steve said. He screwed up his courage and looked at Tony. "It's not stupid. It's pretty cool, actually."

Tony blinked in surprise. "Yeah?"

Steve nodded. "Yeah." He smiled.

After a beat, Tony smiled back. "Yeah," he said with some satisfaction. "That's what I thought."

Steve took a deep breath. This was it.

"And here's what else I'm thinking," Tony went on, oblivious to the moment he had just bulled right past. "You come down tomorrow and we'll work on the balance on that bike. Then what do you say we hit the gym again? We never did finish with those lessons, you know."

He spoke lightly, but Steve knew him well enough by now to hear the tension in his voice, and he stiffened with dread. He had been on the verge of making his confession, and now suddenly they were talking in terms of practicalities, losing the magic of the dark and the snow, and he didn't want that at all, he was terrified of losing it for good.

"Unless, of course, you're going to have another excuse not to," Tony said.

"I, what?" The sudden verbal attack caught Steve completely flat-footed. "I wasn't making excuses."

"Really? I mean, not to ruin this moment of festive holiday cheer, but from where I'm standing, that's all you've been doing." Tony sighed. "You know, if you didn't want to do it, you should have just said so in the first place. Then you wouldn't have had to be so polite to me."

"I wasn't just being polite!" He was horrified by this accusation and all that it implied. "I do want to teach you," he insisted. "And anyway, why are you so pissed off all of a sudden?"

"Maybe because I'm tired of being treated like I'm made of glass," Tony snapped. "Ever since Canada, you all tiptoe around me and act like you're afraid to set me off. And I'm sick of it."

"That's not—"

"I'm fine. I'm _fine_. And I don't need you or anyone else to treat me any differently. You got that?"

"No one's doing that," Steve protested. Even though he had witnessed it before, he was still astonished by how quickly Tony could get angry.

"I don't know why I bothered. The one time you did say yes, you went easy on me," Tony said. "And don't say you didn't. I know you pulled your punches."

Steve was unaccountably flustered – and now he was angry, too. Like that night in the penthouse, he had the feeling that things were spiraling rapidly out of control. "Well, of course I did!" he cried. "You know how much stronger I am than you. I didn't want to hurt you."

"I don't care," Tony shot back. "Stop pulling your punches. And stop making excuses."

"I'm not—"

"You are!" Tony yelled. "Stop trying to fucking save me all the time!"

"I can't!" Steve yelled back. "Don't you get it?"

"Get what? All I get is that you won't—"

"I love you, you idiot! That's why I can't stop! Because I love you."

Tony froze in shock. "You-- What?"

Steve clapped a hand over his mouth in horror. Oh God. He had never, ever intended to tell Tony this way. He could not believe it. The first time he told Tony how he felt, and he had shouted it in anger. "I said… You heard me."

"I heard you," Tony said. "But I don't believe you. I mean…you can't… No. No." He backed away, shaking his head.

Steve felt the first stirrings of real fear. Tony had been stunned at first, then confused, but now he just looked afraid. Colored lights played across his face in shades of green, gold, and red. "Wait. Don't go. Please. Let me explain." _It's not like that_ , he was going to say – going to lie – because that was definitely fear in Tony's eyes and he couldn't handle that, he really couldn't.

Before he got the chance, though, Tony said, "You can't love me. You can't."

"Why not?" Steve demanded.

"Because…because I love you!"

He was dumbfounded. "What? What does that even mean?" Then it suddenly hit him. "Wait. You love me?"

"No," Tony said immediately. "I didn't. I. No."

"You just said you did," Steve said. It felt like his brain wasn't connected to the rest of his body; he could hear himself talking, but the words barely made sense.

Tony just stared at him helplessly, his face in shadow one moment, awash in blue light the next.

A hundred memories from the past few months rose up in his consciousness. The way Tony had looked at him after seeing the old photograph of his former self. Tony giving him his first shield. Tony in Sydney, defiantly glad he had kept Steve at the party for two days: _You're so smart. Figure it out._ The box of Howard's things showing up in his room. Tony in his workshop the day of the incident in the Hydra tunnel, looking up at him in drunken confusion: _What is it about you that makes me do this, talk about things I don't talk about, like, ever_. The rush of heated air as he entered a room, so he would not be cold. The kiss under the mistletoe.

Himself, saying to Thor: _It would be nice to have a white Christmas, but you can't just change the weather like that_.

"Oh my God," he said.

"What?" Tony demanded, then went instantly into denial. "No. What?"

"You didn't do this for Thor, did you?" He looked up at the enormous Christmas tree and the robot sitting on the top branch. "You did it for me."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Tony said.

_I'll have you know, I'm perfectly capable of random moments of thoughtfulness._

God, he was such an idiot! He had _known_ that all of those thoughtful acts were aimed at him and him only. He had even felt guilty about it. So why had he never put two and two together? Why had he never realized that all this time, Tony felt the same way about him?

He felt almost giddy with amazement and relief. He couldn't help laughing. "Oh my God," he said again. "Tony… All this time…"

"Don't," Tony said. "Don't say it."

It had never been about the words anyway, he realized. It had always been there in the little things, in the way Tony looked at him, and the way he got so angry when Tony did something reckless and dangerous, making him fear for Tony's safety. It was Tony taking him to the cemetery and giving him something no one else could. It was himself bending down to kiss Tony's forehead after putting him to bed.

It was this moment, right now. This kiss.

And it was everything he had always hoped it would be.

****

Later, he said, "I wanted to tell you for so long. But I didn't know how."

Tony smirked. "Well, apparently yelling works."

Steve flushed with embarrassment, although he was able to see the humor in it, too. "Apparently. I really am sorry. I never meant to--"

"I know," Tony said. "Just be quiet, okay? Enjoy the moment?"

Steve shut up. It was cold, standing here in the snow, but he didn't mind. Reflected all around him, the colored lights from the Christmas tree blinked steadily blue, then red, then green, then gold. The little robot angel trilled a carol, then began to send more snow into the room.

The first flakes landed on Steve's face, tickling his nose. He puffed out his lower lip, blowing the snowflakes up in a frenzy of white. 

Tony laughed, not unkindly. "Captain America, the world's biggest kid."

Steve grinned at him.

"So we're on for tomorrow, then?" Tony asked.

"If you still want to," Steve said.

"Hell yeah, I want to," Tony said. "I mean, mostly it was just an excuse to spend time with you, but I do want to learn, and yeah." He smiled. "Still want to."

"Okay," Steve said. He thought of his vow in the tunnel, the mission he had assigned himself, to protect Tony and look after him. He had failed already in that regard, but fate had a way of surprising you, he was finding out. He had been given a second chance, and he did not mean to lose it. He smiled. "Then it's a date."

"Our first date. How romantic." Tony chuckled. "Then again, it also involves getting sweaty and physical. That's a very good idea. Whose idea was this again? Oh wait, that's right, it was me." He flashed Steve a brilliant grin.

Steve's breath caught. "I know any second now someone's going to walk in here and tell us that dinner is ready…and I don't care. I want to kiss you, anyway. I want to tell you how much I love you."

Tony's expression grew more serious – but his eyes still shone with light. "So do it."

Steve looked around at the tree, the robots, the impossible snow. At this amazing man who simply made his own magic when there was none else to be had. "Okay." He stepped closer.

"Are you sure?" Tony teased. "Feeling up to the challenge?" He reached up and cupped the back of Steve's head, drawing him in.

"Oh yes," Steve said, and accepted his new mission.

*************

 

**Author's Note:**

> The drawing Steve does of Tony is taken from the wonderful Ryan Meinerding's concept art. The one in particular I referenced can be found [here](http://www.customvector.com/blog/portfolio-ryan-meinerding-character-design-usa/). 
> 
> The story Tony tells about Howard and Maria is mostly fabricated by me, mostly because we just don't know a whole lot about Maria. There are a few canon details I included when possible, such as [Howard giving Tony his first drink as a child](http://www.ironmanarmory.com/earlyyears.html).


End file.
